Top Stories
New stories you’ll love, handpicked for you by our team and updated daily.
Happy Times
Along the roads in Gujarat. Our driver was taking us from Talgajada to the airport in Diu, a port side sea town. The roads sometimes smoothly paved from recent construction, to potholes, and then just chaos with road re-routes. But we stopped along the way to roadside bathrooms with food stalls, and also tea stalls.
A Rite that Begins After it is Reached
We rose towards the light. Beasts (Royals, Sovereigns, Kings) that ruled without coronation. We fell when it became too bright.
K. KocheryanPublished 6 days ago in PoetsMy Emotional Support Dinosaur
I bring it with me always Everywhere I go To work, to shops, to parties, Because it takes away my woe. I scarcely need to feed it,
J. R. LowePublished 5 days ago in PoetsA cart, a donkey and a little too much wine
I’ll start by telling you a story. It is a true tale from a different time in a land about as far from where I live now, a modern city near the sea in the southern hemisphere, as you could imagine.
Michèle NardelliPublished 8 days ago in FamiliesThe Tables Are Turned
Wanda’s usually a quiet soul, one of very few words. In fact, she likes to sit in the background, watching the world live their lives.
Colleen MillsteedPublished 6 days ago in Fictiondeferred notes on faith deconstruction (a poem in five parts)
1) air hunger that heralds May limping into June, waiting for a baptism not unlike the one I had at 15 when I knew nothing of self-love
No Plus One
It's nearly one AM and I just got back from my third wedding of the four in this last month alone, and I have always been alone. I hide behind my camera to pretend to be useful, hide behind a safety net of skill set. So I do not have to confront the loneliness that is sleeping alone when everyone else seems to have a partner to crawl into bed with. I love the time spent with those who decided I was worth the 30-plus dollars per plate they decided to spend on me, and I do not need to have a partner on these occasions, but it would be nice to have someone notice, me. See when I am in the corner because they know I need time to recharge and to kiss me on the head until the time has come to leave. Maybe that's the problem about being a professional storyteller, I dream of something that isn't meant for me.
Rilee AreyPublished 8 days ago in ConfessionsRemember
The air hangs hot and humid, reaching nearly 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Sweat trickles beneath your clothing as you move along the pathways. Whispers of long silenced echoes lift in the occasional breeze, surrounding you with an eerie sense of something other worldly, foreboding and long lost. Dust particles stir to settle in your lungs with each breath and step you take beneath the intertwined tree limbs hanging just overhead; they provide relief - momentary shelter from the sun’s rays. Each movement, each stir of dust leads you one step closer to whatever beckons. Not knowing exactly what you will find ahead, you still obey the summons. It's that for which you traveled one hundred miles inland.
Cindy CalderPublished 9 days ago in WanderRemember Me
I. Warm, warm, my milk flowered breath bears fresh laden scents of my mothers breast. . Precious, precious, I toddle to and fro,
J. S. WadePublished 7 days ago in PoetsA Coat To Suit The Weather
Looking out my window, I try to decipher what the temperature will be today. Will I need a zip-up sweatshirt so I can feel cozy?
Amethyst ChampagnePublished 11 days ago in FictionMuses & Musings
Welcome to my new series, a weekly blog on what’s inspiring me. I spent much of last week in bed with a stomach bug. I’ll spare you the details of that—but in addition to the grotesque physical symptoms, I had some fever dreams I won’t soon forget. Imagine my surprise to see Vocal’s newest challenge: Write a fiction story about a recurring dream or nightmare.
Davina Zinn McKeePublished 7 days ago in JournalYou Don't Need To Be Whole To Shine
The waning crescent moon whispers so low, "You need not be complete to cast your light," In fragments, still you glow, still you bestow.
When We Were Very Young
In another box set that my parents got me when I was younger contained four books by A.A. Milne. 'When We Were Very Young' is a collection of poems that Milne wrote for his son Christopher Robin. This is a book that is full of references to Mr. Edward Bear, but a lot of the poems give some various descriptions of life of a very young child and where, when, how and why they do what they do. The illustrations are quite cute for you can see what Christopher Robin is and may be thinking. Also, Pooh Bear does make his self-known at various points. I have read these verses many, many times over the years and each time make me feel good about myself.
Mark GrahamPublished 7 days ago in CritiqueNever Leave Home Without Sunscreen
Never leave home without sunscreen! So, every year, National Sunscreen Day is celebrated on May 27th. At the same time, you must use the right products before you head to the beach or are outside.
Lynne BlackPublished 6 days ago in VivaGo Tell it on the Mountain by James Baldwin
Published on the 18th of May, 1953, ‘Go Tell it on the Mountain’ became the book that James Baldwin is probably most famous for. Including the very real impacts of violence upon the African American community during a time of turbulence for Civil Rights, James Baldwin became an absolute superstar not just of his race, but of the oppressed in every situation, in every country, all over the world. From Palestine to the Civil Rights Movement, from the LGBTQA+ to Muslim Migrants from war-torn countries, James Baldwin is the voice of the oppressed not just through the way he presents the division, but the way he presents a reality that the oppressors could not possibly be aware of. A reality in which every day is a fight to survive. What makes this even more real is that this is a semi-autobiographical novel. In my personal opinion, James Baldwin was the most articulate man in history.
Annie KapurPublished 8 days ago in GeeksThe Flamingo Lounge
Lola heard the footsteps from the hallway as she sat in her dressing room. She stared straight ahead at her reflection. Her lips had grown thin and her wrinkles had grown deep. The Flamingo Lounge had seen better days and so had she.
D.K. ShepardPublished 10 days ago in FictionA Sorry Letter
Dear Me, I wanted to sit for a bit and write this letter to you. To tell you how sorry I am for what I've put you through. To let you know it was not my intention to purposely put you through this pain over and over again. I just want you to hear me out, and if at the end of this letter you choose not to forgive me that is fine with me I will understand.
Merjaunie LenaPublished 9 days ago in Writers146 As the Crow Dies
Feed me crow. With a side helping of humble pie. Yes, bird and entrails are what I deserve, garnished with an eye-for-an-eye and gnashed teeth.
Gerard DiLeoPublished 9 days ago in FictionOne Step
“Focus on the step in front of you and not the whole staircase” Sometimes, a project looks impossible. We look ahead,
Ruth Elizabeth StiffPublished 10 days ago in PoetsThe Intersection of Past and Upcoming
This story was originally published on Medium. ************** A bellow, a shriek, a roar… one by one… emanated in the distance, but closed in. Not one single hair on one single neck in the valley wasn’t standing at attention.
Stephen Kramer AvitabilePublished 11 days ago in Fiction