Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
A Destination Needs A Dreamer
Gatlin heard the violin every evening on the commute back from work. Wending between warm rushing bodies on the subway, eyes forward, bag clasped protectively at her side, she drank it in at the same time as she didn't slow. It was probably the best part of her day. The shivering strains crescendoed and collapsed, tugging at something in her core. She'd never seen the violinist, but whoever he was, he was clearly a master, clearly professionally trained. The music always seemed to be coming from somewhere further down the track, around a bend, just out of eyeshot. She'd come to think fancifully that it was something only she could hear. She’d come to think of it as her future, calling.
By Raistlin Allen12 days ago in Fiction
Lap Cat
My nose is dripping, and Delia is tracing her fingers through my hair. Her husband is shirtless by the microwave, heating up leftovers from New Year's Eve. In 60 seconds, I'll be shoving mouthfuls of risotto between my quivering lips like a child and picking at semi-stale dinner rolls. Then, I'll pass my plate to one of their three Tabby cats (whom I can never tell apart) and let him/her/them (?) lick it clean.
By Erin Latham Shea13 days ago in Fiction
Turquoise Clouds in a Green Sky
“I always remember the first time I saw the green sky and the turquoise clouds skating across it.” These words had stayed with Alice Barrett for two years. She’d been six- years-old and snuggled next to her great-grandmother, known to nearly all the family as Granny Rose, on a large, rather uncomfortable armchair. Granny Rose had been telling her a story, at least that’s what Alice believed, but it was a strange memory, blurry apart from those few words.
By Matthew Batham14 days ago in Fiction
Harbinger of Despair
Who was he but just a man? To feel the weight of the world on his shoulders, he was no Atlas. Yet his bowed stance and tender neck suggested otherwise. It came to him in a dream: the absent stoking of an everlasting flame. A gnarled finger pointed towards an inevitable end, a sign that couldn't be ignorantly shaded; recurrence made sure of it. He didn't remember how long it had been going on; time didn't matter at this point. He just knew it was long enough to be petrified to fall asleep.
By James U. Rizzi15 days ago in Fiction
Babbling Dixie
The short form of tomorrow is never the whole story. Abbreviations mean nothing when we are born to die and we all are aren't we? Being spoken for before birth is something we're not supposed to remember like some kind of karma after effect. Still here we are spending our lives looking for each other.
By Canuck Scriber Lisa Lachapelle16 days ago in Fiction
The Solitude of The Chupacabra
Many say that the Chupacabra is a rather recent and modern tale, a mangy coyote or rabied dog. Some point out that it’s just twisted evolution. But very few know the true backstory of the shapeshifter that led to the bloodsucking legend. And perhaps once you will come to know and understand more, you might “forget” a few cattle out to wander.
By Oneg In The Arctic18 days ago in Fiction
