Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
The Shanghai Cipher. AI-Generated.
The manuscript had been missing for four hundred years before anyone thought to look for it in Shanghai. This was, Dr. Nora Ashworth reflected, either a stroke of genuine insight or the kind of desperate reasoning that passed for insight when you had been chasing something long enough that the chase itself had become the point. She stood on the Bund in the October rain of 1924, her coat doing its inadequate best against a wind coming off the Huangpu that smelled of diesel and river mud and the particular industrial ambition of a city that had decided to become the future before the future had finished deciding what it was, and looked at the address written in her notebook.
By Alpha Cortex4 days ago in Fiction
Sinking ghosts come out to play
Timelines that cross boundaries between the past and the present often fuck me up in the most random ways. I know that I’ve been here before, like this church, but I don’t quite remember how. I remember someone I used to resent that was supposed to be my friend, but he was somehow different.
By Melissa Ingoldsby4 days ago in Fiction
The City That Outlawed Sound. AI-Generated.
The law had been in effect for nine years, four months, and eleven days. Elias Vorne knew this not because he tracked legislation — he had no particular interest in legislation, which had never once in his experience produced anything worth listening to — but because nine years, four months, and eleven days ago was the last time he had heard another human being sing. A woman, somewhere below his window, walking home in the early dark, carrying a melody he didn't recognize in a voice that was slightly flat on the upper notes and completely, heartbreakingly alive. He had stood at his window and listened until she turned a corner and the city swallowed the sound, and three days later the Silence Ordinance had passed the Municipal Assembly by a margin of forty-one votes to three, and the woman below his window had never sung again.
By Alpha Cortex4 days ago in Fiction
The Weight of a Feather
The sun hadn't yet cleared the jagged teeth of the basalt cliffs when Elias began his morning ritual. He stood before the mirror, checking the leather harness that crisscrossed his chest. It was worn supple by decades of salt and sweat. He adjusted the buckles, ensuring the iron-grey stone fastened to his small of his back was centered. It was the size of a prize-winning pumpkin and weighed exactly eighty-four pounds.
By Edward Smith4 days ago in Fiction
The Window
The glow was the first thing everyone checked in the morning—not the sun, which was unreliable and messy, but the steady, cool blue of the glass. Every home was a gallery of these illuminated rectangles, windows that offered a view far more curated and pleasing, than normal human optics could receive from the unfiltered world that hid behind everyone's' walls.
By Meko James 4 days ago in Fiction
The Unspoken Rule. Content Warning.
She’s six years old in a hotel room giving way to darkness on the way down to Florida. They’re fighting again, but this is common enough now. She kneels in front of the small screen and presses the button on the TV itself. The remote doesn’t work.
By Leigh Victoria Phan, MS, MFA4 days ago in Fiction
I'm So Sorry...
I've been told my whole life that sharing is a virtue, so I guess that makes me a saint today. Look, I'm tired of the noise. I'm tired of the weight behind my eyes and that buzzing in my ears that sounds like a thousand bees trying to start a band in my head. They say a debt is only a burden if you're the one holding the bill... and I feel like I've held it long enough.
By Sara Wilson4 days ago in Fiction
Marked For Death
Charra walked around town, noting each establishment's unique aesthetic: worn-out shops, cobblestone streets, and a small-town feel. Lumilla brimmed with little shops, all carrying the old-time feel from when gods walked among them so long ago. The smell of the many shops filled the air, making everyone feel at home. As the many colors faded, it was still beautiful in its own way. She felt at home here, heading to her favorite shop for candied delights. The rustic charm fit the worn shop, its welcoming smell inviting to those who knew it. Each worn shelf held the candy for some time. Yet it held its charm throughout the many years it had delighted the population.
By Sarah Danaher4 days ago in Fiction
Swan. Top Story - April 2026.
“During the Metal Age, humans took photographs of everything beautiful, which was everything, yet machines did not even wear shoes. The Fauxna thought of a better way. They colored all of the light rose, for a corrupted source cannot be verified.” - Origin Parable, 011
By Nicky Frankly4 days ago in Fiction
The Day Pass
The morning did not begin—it dragged itself into existence. A dull, splitting ache pulsed behind his eyes, as if the night had left something unfinished inside his skull. The room smelled faintly of cheap rum and stale air. He lay there for a moment, not thinking, not moving—just existing in the heavy silence that follows excess.
By Honey Batth4 days ago in Fiction
