Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
Trouble on the Water
Cold spray crashed against the windows of the small fishing boat as she pierced the crest of a wave and then pitched down into the trough. Time and time again the unforgiving cycle had gone on battering the boat and soaking the three-man crew to the skin.
Thea YoungPublished 3 years ago in Fictionsolitude under the stars
Winter months at sea are my favourite. Unlike the summer months, where the seas are crowded with boats and the screams of irritable children rival the screeches of gulls, winter has the one thing I cherish most: solitude.
Katarina ChuiPublished 3 years ago in FictionNightswimming
Sometimes I go swimming alone, at night. Under the silvered scree of moonlight, I undress and pad quietly into the cool shallows. In September, the fog rolls in, an ancient cue for impending winter and the solid freeze known in the north as Ice Down. I will lean back, float serenely, eyes trained on the slivers of light that breach the overhanging pines. I imagine I am young, a girl in the throes of teenage angst, rebelling against the oaken crush of an overtired single mother. I imagine I am in love, arms twisted around the muscular shoulders of an older lover, a sensual tryst in the chill of autumn. I imagine I am strong, stronger than his pressings, his pleas, his sweet whispers and platitudes in my crimson ear.
Aaron SteelePublished 3 years ago in FictionWinter’s Love
I crouched behind the clump of bushes, watching her. Her long dark hair was dotted with crystals as they tumbled from the sky. Her clear blue eyes lifted to gaze at the heavens as she soared into the air. She slid away from me, then giggled as she was propelled forward again. The chains of the swing set looked like rivers, twisted beneath her gloved fingertips. Her pink hat was daintily perched upon her crown, a sharp contrast to the deep, rich chocolate of her hair, trailing out behind her with the wind as she swung forward. Her laugh broke the winter silence as it rang out, chimes in the wind. I closed my eyes and savored the richness of it. Recollection of the sound sparked longing deep within my chest, a pain that outweighed the cold upon my bare feet or the bitter wind upon my back. I longed to go to her, to embrace her once more. She would not recognize me now, I thought angrily. I returned my gaze to the summer angel immersed in winter as she innocently played, oblivious to my surveillance. She swung high in the air now, soaring above the ground; her eyes glittered mischievously as she shifted her grip on the chains. All at once, she let go and flew, a wingless bird soaring over the white powder. She crash landed into a drift of snow that exploded upon impact, into cold, downy crystals. She grinned and a giggle burst out of her. Her bliss was overwhelming, washing off of her in waves of joy. So contagious it was that I involuntarily let out a soft barking laugh.
Ari StrellaPublished 3 years ago in FictionDaughter.
The girl sighed as she stared defeatedly at the unremarkable ceiling over head. Gentle rays of light danced against the light blue walls of the room. The sun rose slowly in the sky, the beautiful mixes of oranges and yellows and pinks, replacing the black and navy of the night before. The girl ran a hand through her red hair. Another sleepless night had come and gone. Her chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm as she contemplated doing it today.
Cianna WilliamsPublished 3 years ago in FictionCareful What Name You Choose
Shortly after moving into our new neighborhood, my wife found him on Interstate 12 in Louisiana. Unannounced, she delivered him to me, which was clearly against the rules. But our home is like the Roach Motel--if anything checks in, they never check out. The smell was painful, and after addressing the filth, tar, and matted hair, he was still unrecognizable as any particular breed.
Gerard DiLeoPublished 3 years ago in FictionWEAVERS
"He's gone!" "But where...?" "...and for how long?" "...The Storyweaver is fine. Right now, we should tend to our healing allies."
Kent BrindleyPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Harvesters
Letifer the Harvester leaned against a tree on the edge of the clearing at what was going to be known as The Battle of Chickamauga and listened to the battle rage. He and his brother, Mortem, had been hard at work for eons, but the human mortals still haven't learned to coexist. Not that mortals in general thought much about the Harvesters or the Beyond anyway. Letifer marveled at how consequential the human mortals thought their lives were. He and his brother had been around since the universe began, and humans, who only lived for 50 years at a time, thought of nothing but conflict and progress, leaving Letifer and Mortem to harvest the souls that were ripe.
A Story About A Forest
Once upon a time there was a gorgeous, lush forest that teemed with life and vibrance. The forest was protected by highly official documents, laws and legislation, unharm-able, loved and nurtured by all who lived by it. Baby squirrels played and chased each other up and down majestic trunks from dawn to dusk. Nestled in great roots were settlements of mushroom villages and fat bugs of all shapes, sizes and colours wove in between the little umbrellas. Food was abundant, air was clean and sweet and seldom was there a crash that told of a fallen giant. When there was, new saplings rose up tall, growing strong upon the wisdom of the old bark beneath their roots.
Angie AllanbyPublished 3 years ago in FictionExtra Credit
Darlene rested her head against the cool and solid refrigerator, her eyes closed as she counted out the longest sixty-three seconds of every day. Those sixty-three seconds it took for the coffee machine to create her personal cup of mommy wake up juice to start the day.
Judey KalchikPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Unsaid Good-Bye
Nic sat on the toilet in her great-grandmother’s house, staring at the shower wall mural that had creeped her out as a child, feeling very creeped out. She hated using the bathroom here, because there was nothing to do but sit and look at those creepy, sculpted people with their white, almond-shaped eyes and oversized hands, positioned around the trunk of a vast Yggdrasil of a pear tree, branches spread wide above the length of the tub and oval leaves ending in sharp barbs like wasp stingers drooped in silent menace. If a bathroom could be threatening, her great-grandmother had cornered the market.
R. E. DyerPublished 3 years ago in FictionReading and Righting
Reading and Righting Ricky Pardue buried his Ma by his Pa up in the Boot Hill Cemetery as close to the old pear tree as he could get them. His Pa died of accumulated ills and despondency associated with his time fighting for the Confederacy's failed secession, and his Ma died not long afterwards of consumption, according to old Doc Gibbons. His Pa never was right after he came home from the war, and his Ma just seemed to have wasted away.
Cleve TaylorPublished 3 years ago in Fiction