Top Stories
New stories you’ll love, handpicked for you by our team and updated daily.
Delicious Nightmares
There is nothing novel in the observation that a good cinema experience is akin to a waking dream. We sit in darkness and become enveloped in a world of images that we piece together to form a narrative. Sometimes the images overpower us and we struggle with the paralysis of a nightmare. And then the lights come back up and we take a breath to remember it was not real, we were not in that car crash, we were not in a fight, we were not a lover being romanced. And we need a moment between the last credit and the real world to gather our thoughts to find meaning in what we have seen.
Rachel RobbinsPublished 9 days ago in WritersDead Bird Society
This is based on Randy Baker's prompt: Inspired by The Rime of the Ancient Mariner: Let me be clear about what happened…
Kendall DefoePublished 13 days ago in FictionGrief is an Animal
I will not discuss how you went, Not how I found you, nor the tears that I spent. I will not talk about the sound I made,
Valerie TaylorPublished 12 days ago in PoetsIt Happened
Introduction Three years ago I joined Vocal to win a big prize. That never happened, but this did. What Did? As you know I have a fascination with numbers and tend to track what happens to my account via Vocal's flawed statistics. As I hit certain numbers of stories, I tend to share them with others on Vocal.
Mike Singleton - MikeydredPublished 10 days ago in WritersBluebell glade
Bluebells and bracken in a cool forest glade, Trees providing much needed shade. Two butterflies flutter as if in a race Flying right past me, with soft gentle grace.
Sarah Fiander HarrisonPublished 14 days ago in PoetsEdgar's Vigil
A lone figure sat on the sand watching the sun slowly sink below the horizon. He was prepared to wait here all through the cold night if it meant even a single moment with her.
Alice ElizabethPublished 17 days ago in FictionThe All Powerful Imagination
Ben spent the whole day digging in the dirt, and found what he thought was a stone. He yelled to his brother, "hey, look at this Kurt!”
Kelli Sheckler-AmsdenPublished 10 days ago in PoetsSymphony of Madness
Written for the Randy Barker, Unofficial, 'Prompted #4' Challenge. Details below. ..................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
Lamar WigginsPublished 12 days ago in FictionStinckbug meal!
For years, South Africans, Malawians, and Zimbabweans have consumed stinkbugs. In South Africa, they are a delicacy for the Limpopo Venda and the Mpumalanga people.
Gloria PenelopePublished 12 days ago in FeastOld Enough
I get up early cause I know Pearl will make biscuits, eggs, and crisp bacon and let me lick the warm salty lard with my fingers from the skillet once it cools off. I watch her go "mmmm, mmmm" and squeeze her lips into a smile. She starts the percolator for Paw-Paw, pours me a big glass of ice cold milk and stands over me saying, "drink it down." Pearl always makes hard things seem easy, not so good days feel okay and I wish she were my Momma. We don't look the same but if she asked me to be her child I'd be the luckiest girl alive. She pulls my fingers out of my mouth, " you get worms now, hear me?" I most definitely don't want worms so I am really trying to stop chewing my nails. Pearl's nails are always clean, trimmed, with a clear, shiny gloss. Her lips are full, ripe, like a fresh dark purple plum. She has fine teeth, big hazel eyes and wears tiny gold studs in each earlobe. I want earrings, but the thought of a needle being pushed though my ear doesn't sound like it's worth the trouble, at least right now. I would like some tap shoes though. Pearl laughs when I tell her about my dancing dreams. She says I have happy feet cause I am wiggling my toes all the time. When Paw-Paw goes out on the porch to smoke his pipe I always show him my latest moves. After breakfast, Pearl starts washing our sheets and says there is a dust bunny under my bed. I don't want to look. I scare myself enough just looking at hobos. Anyway, back to the railroad. Just can't help myself. I don't curse, smoke, steal or commit sins that I know of, but I can tell you right here and right now, hobos teach and preach more than any one body needs. I confess I became on friendly terms with a man named Hank. He'd wave and say, " Hey, May! Keep smilin' kiddo!" and he'd sometimes be laying in the shade right calm when I snuck up to see him. He always looked sad just before he caught sight of me. Soon as my big trap started jabbering he'd change like a chameleon. That is, he'd try to make life seem so fine. I new he was hungry. I started taking biscuits on the days I figured he'd be around and he was always obliged. Just like the song, Mr. Bojangles, I began to show off my dancing moves to cheer ole Hank up. How is it we just know someone isn't happy? He laughed and smiled; in my mind he had a harmonica or some groovy steps he'd show me, but he never did. When the rest of the jumpers, as he referred to his fellow train hopping hobos as, came around he'd shoo me off. He told me in a kind, yet tough way to go on home. Where Hank went I never knew; in my heart I liked to hold it was somewhere much better than the hard ass dirt he slept on, full of God only knows what, and lonesome nights with an empty belly and mosquitos. Back home, I'm hosed down. Pearl gives me a hard stare; I am guessing she is guessing where the heck I've been. I am full of cockleburs, red from the sun. She leaves Paw-Paw and me my favourite, whipped cream and orange jello. I always hug her when she heads back to the place she calls home; I will make sure that this summer I follow Pearl like a cat stalks, curious that is, not aiming to find trouble. Late, when Paw-Paw is loving his heap of second helpings from supper, I ease out from my bedroom and stand right in front of the late night news. Paw-Paw's old Grandpa eyes widen and I start dancing; I pretend to tap dance and point my toes toward the ceiling fan, clap my hands and fall onto the thick, Persian patterned carpet. Paw-Paw laughs with his belly bouncing. I guess for now, summer is getting off to a good start. I slink down the long hallway and slither into bed. I wonder where Hank is now; Memphis, Baton Rouge, New Orleans? By now, hobos, I mean, jumpers, could be anywhere. I say out loud as if I am praying, "Goodnight jumper Hank; goodnight Pearl". I wiggle my toes one more time, roll over toward the moon shining through my window and smile.
Fangs of Light
This story is a continuation of the Tales of Ezok that began in "The Precipice." Reading this story and its companion "Whispers and Whisps" is not required to enjoy this story, but they will each add layers to the character we see here and I would be remiss to not mention them at the very least.
Stephen A. RoddewigPublished 11 days ago in Fiction📢 Raise Your Voice Thread: 05/23/2024
Our “Raise Your Voice Threads” are hosted every other Thursday at 12PM ET to offer creators more avenues to uncover exceptional stories on Vocal. As we are continuously searching for fresh creators and inspiring stories, this thread provides an opportunity to exchange and discuss the stories that have moved and motivated us on Vocal.
Raise Your Voice by VocalPublished 10 days ago in ResourcesLinda
I prefer the nurse with a rasp for a voice. She knows it all- has seen your bottom, and does not care. She has
Rebecca SiemeringPublished 8 months ago in PoetsGood Enough
Sweetheart those russet orbs Settling inside your eyes, Those aren't boring as you say. Glint resembles the fireflies Tea, honey and sweet lies. Anxious to capture it's prey.
Sumayya SharminPublished 12 days ago in PoetsThe day I saw the light leave your eyes
The day I saw the light leave your eyes, something snapped within me. Something elemental and numbing. As if my environment flattened to black and white.
Munson's Microfiction: My Tears Need A Minute
A New Unofficial Challenge Has Arrived 🥳 I'm thrilled to announce my first unofficial challenge sponsorship via Vocal! As of yesterday, 2 May 2024, my Vocal catalogue proudly contains 150 pieces. For me, that's an unimaginable milestone. I've penned 118 pieces since 7 February 2024, and in large part other Vocal writers have encouraged and supported me into posting all sorts of writing, from poetry to horror to fae tales to confessions. The ride so far has been breathtaking!
Christy MunsonPublished 30 days ago in FictionStegosaurus Sophie
You don’t see me, do you? So carefully posed in parched contempt. This is survival beyond injury and death, all these plates and spikes. This
Rae SolacePublished 10 days ago in PoetsA Love Letter to Travel Photography
We've all pondered the idea of "if money was no object". We've all considered what we might do if we were financially free; if we could make decisions without ever considering the "bottom line".
Sophia CareyPublished 12 days ago in Wanderghost of a wallflower
~ it's hard to miss what you never had, to hear others grieving hugs and kisses and conversations with family who loved them unconditionally,
Heather HublerPublished 10 days ago in PoetsGolinda and Gallopatrot go to the Emerald Isle
The short days were getting longer. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the blue hour created the magic of the darkest phase of twilight. It was time to put Oliver to bed. Yaya felt the muse come alive when he asked for a story.
Katherine D. GrahamPublished 12 days ago in Wander