Bobster Blog

Nobody quite remembers who wrote Biscuit the Labrador on the ballot. It might have been Daisy from the bakery, or old Stan who thinks politi...

The Four Horsemen sat awkwardly in a WeWork conference room in Shoreditch, each nursing a lukewarm oat milk latte and silently resenting the...

He found the room on a Thursday, behind a wall that wasn’t there yesterday. No hinges, no latch—just a clean rectangle in the plaster. When ...

Elaine ordered the clone on a Monday. They delivered him in a matte-black crate. The AI engineers called it a “Psychogenic Simulacrum.” She ...

When Harry lost his wife, he shattered. It began with his hands. He couldn’t bear how they trembled at the funeral, how useless they felt in...

It had always been there. A narrow, grey door between the stationery cupboard and the water cooler. No handle, no keyhole—just a small brush...

He blinked. Endless, depthless white. No floor beneath him, yet he didn’t fall. No ceiling above, but still he sensed pressure. A hum—not qu...

Jon wakes to a blank screen and one question pulsing in white: “What does it feel like to be wrong?” Morning light pools on his wooden floor...

Cassiel’s work was illegal. More than illegal— unspeakable. The Mourning Authority called it corporeal sabotage. She called it remembering. ...