Top Stories
New stories you’ll love, handpicked for you by our team and updated daily.
The Singer So Shy
She stood near the cold fireplace, watching the second-hand tick down to the hour. In another minute, the clock's bird would emerge and warble the hour. She reached up and touched the clock, tracing the gentle slope of the farmhouse roof, then trailing down the lilac strewn side, to the white fence framed dooryard. She wished she was there, where the air would smell of lilacs rather than smoke.
Judah LoVatoPublished 9 days ago in Fictiondreaming
~ Dad set your paintings ablaze on a Thursday, piled in a heap of rubble and ruin, his gruff tenor thick with tears as he struck the match. I was furious. With him, with you, with
Heather HublerPublished 8 days ago in PoetsJax
She gives the kill sign and unlocks her helmet. Standing still, Jax wipes away the waxy balm. "My tears need a minute to find the edges of my face. If you'll please excuse me."
Christy MunsonPublished 7 days ago in FictionPeanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
Lamar WigginsPublished 9 days ago in FictionThe Snake-Worshipping, Fur-Wearing Woman Who Made Alexander Great
What do you know about the mother of Alexander the Great? It's not a trick question. The woman who gave birth to one of history's military greats has been much obscured by the long, dark shadow of history. Short of a few awkward caricatures in film, little has been brought into focus about the infamous Olympias of Molossia.
E.B. JohnsonPublished 13 days ago in HistoryToddler Pulp
“I said hold on!” Jackie said louder than she needed to. Below her, little Nicko continued to wail, holding his arms above his head. Bright tears rolled down his cheeks like beads of morning dew.
Zack GrahamPublished 9 days ago in FictionSwitch Places
My home Is your home You once told me So I made it my own. But today, Our lives Have switched. This princess, Who left the castle of her parents
Manisha DhalaniPublished 8 days ago in Poets1:23 PM
I tell you, I miss mornings, fella. I miss the taste of coffee. The feeling of a newspaper in my hand. The sight of the soft light of daybreak.
Kerry KehoePublished 11 days ago in FictionOF MOTHERHOOD.
Dear mother-to-be, I wanted to let you know how very, very special I think you are. I don't think there can be any job that is more meaningful than the one you are about to begin, that of being a mom. You are the most important person in the world to your precious unborn baby, and you will be for many years.
Catherine NyomendaPublished 9 days ago in WritersIn It
If I make it that far, you can pose the question; to ask me in December is just a suggestion. * If I ask you to tell me more,
Kendall DefoePublished 11 days ago in PoetsJust a Minute
"Allie, can you get the extra plates from the basement?" Mom yelled over the music while quickly pouring the food she had just spent five hours cooking into the new fancy gold serving plates and bowls.
Snow Need to Rush
I watched my breath form a small white cloud as it puffed out of my lips and dissipated before my eyes. I rubbed my hands together, blowing into them with the precious bit of warm air that remained in my lungs. My leg bounced as I stared into the cold dark world beyond the windows of my truck as they remained partially fogged up.
Donna Fox (HKB)Published 12 days ago in FictionDon't wait till the end...
Ask me in December, when the trees lose their green, the birds fly far away, and the forests fall asleep. Ask me, when no one's around
Religious Freedom Granted in 1978
What traditions are you most thankful for and why? Rupi Kaur's Gratitude Writing Prompts 1. Enormous Gratitude for the return of religious freedom for American Indians in 1978. The same year I got into recovery. That year I could smudge, go into the sweat lodge, attend full-moon ceremony, pipe ceremony, wiping of tears ceremony, and others.
Denise E LindquistPublished 10 days ago in WritersSixty Seconds to Kill
It's easier to kill a man if you can't see his face. I could have joined an artillery unit and fired at coordinates instead of soldiers. Many men I have served with have said so again and again. 'You'll get yourself and us killed out here,' they say, 'join the artillery, shoot and scoot.'
Create Your Personal Vocal Homepage
I'm not a Vocal Newbie (not that there's anything wrong with that), and I'm technologically comfortable. But, I'm also perhaps too comfortable. I think I know, even if I know that I don't know what I don't know, I still think I know more that I do know.
Judey KalchikPublished 9 days ago in WritersDistance
Distance What is the distance between you and me? Is it beliefs, an island or the sea, Distance is what we create through the passage of experiences, emotions or transparency, or not as the case maybe.
Robert RawsonPublished 11 days ago in PoetsHigh Rise, Deep Impact
I have witnessed a death that I relive every time I step into an elevator. Although it no longer affects me as deeply—given that it's been 11 years since the incident—it remains a heart- rending memory from my first and last day as a paramedic. My initial call to the scene involved a man who seemed to have fallen down the elevator shaft of a high-rise building. Alternatively, it might have been that the elevator moved upwards while he was working on it. Different scenarios were being considered when I arrived.
Penelope HenainPublished 9 days ago in WritersTomato time
My girlfriend Nana went to the farmer’s market and bought some tomatoes. I lingered on the spot on the counter that had the last tomato after she had made us dinner the night before.
Melissa IngoldsbyPublished 9 days ago in FictionTwo Wrinkles In Time
It is pointless to run, my darling, because sixty seconds ago, I will kill you. My blade will have sliced reality open right in front of you. It will have first pierced it as it would a bed sheet left hanging to dry, flapping in the wind on a Sunday afternoon. But the metal will have drawn a line in the air that the ghostly tear will have followed. Then I, La Dyablès, machete firmly in hand, will have emerged from what your mind, at the time, could only interpret as the other side of here—whatever that means to you. I know. I have seen that look on the faces of countless unlucky… clients. You will not have been the first nor the last to try and reneg on a riches for soul contract only to present this visage to me when I come to collect.
Lily SéjorPublished 12 days ago in Fiction