Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
The Good Samaritan
"But I don't know how to drive!" "Please! You have to help me!" "I've only ever been in a go-kart! There's too many pedals!"
Rachel DeemingPublished 31 minutes ago in FictionThe Lantern Keeper
In a little town got comfortable the middle of moving slants and sumptuous forests, there continued with an older individual named Elias. Elias was known as the light director. Every evening, as the sun plunged under the horizon, he would walk around the cobblestone streets, lighting the lights that upgraded the town, conveying warmth and light to the lack of definition that incorporated the lazy town.
Md. Sayhanul ArifPublished about an hour ago in FictionGuilty As Charged
The phone rang too early in the morning. No, it was actually 11 am, but he still didn’t care to open his eyes after a drunken night. His head was hurting too much. He fumbled around his nightstand for his phone and finally grabbed it. Ugh, only one percent of the charge left. Forgot to plug it in for the night once again.
Katya DuftPublished about 2 hours ago in FictionSolitude Is Best Served Stuffed
In-person job interviews were a tedious, waste of time, anxiety-filled task. If you wanted me for my resume and were lured by my phone conversing skills, then you should have already made up your mind about accepting me onto your customer service team. It was an at-home work position anyhow. Why would you need me to leave said home?
Oneg In The ArcticPublished about 3 hours ago in FictionIt Took Only A Minute To Let Go
Deep inside the forest and it’s legendary tricky trees, Vladimir and Princess Bella Russia rested peacefully occupying separate log cabin rooms. Outside their hide away vacation villa escape, visitor guest Tighe Bessinger, stared into the dark setting, noting the guiding stars took five, not making an appearance, curbing enthusiasm, claiming unhealthy air quality tension.
Marc OBrienPublished about 4 hours ago in FictionJust a mintue
They say it takes 7 minutes for you to die completely but what happens the minute before the beginning of the end? Today started just like every other day but different at the same time. You know how they say a dog will tell you when it’s time? This was that moment. The moment it was time for me to go. I started thinking about my life and what I accomplished- did I do everything I wanted- I needed?
Jen PhillipsPublished about 5 hours ago in FictionHush
I was flung back against the wall and the door slammed behind me. I was conscious of a rising dread, one that only increased as I looked around. The room was creepily neat and tidy, but it was not clean. Dark stains, brownish, spattered the cement walls and stone floor. The bed against the wall looked clean enough, and it was surprisingly large and soft. For a room that looked singularly like a cell, the bed was out of place.
ThatOne_GirlPublished about 6 hours ago in FictionGUARDIAN of ETERNAL FLAME
CHAPTER-1 In the heart of the ancient forest, where sunlight pierces through dense foliage, lives a lonely fire. It was not a simple fire; he understands it, he likes it, and he yearns for something more.
Anuja JadhavPublished about 6 hours ago in FictionA DEAD MAN’S DANDELION
I am going to die tomorrow, so what do I do today? It’s an important question, because what if I just do nothing? Nothing too important—nothing too time consuming—nothing too enlightening, I hate nothing and I hate knowing nothing. I am going to die tomorrow, so today I will live. What does it mean to live exactly? To be alive? Is all you need breath in your lungs and wonder in your eyes? I think so.
The Pantry.
THE PANTRY. I was in my third year of university majoring in History, my sister was in high school with all her extracurriculars, and my mom was trying to find a new hobby after my dad left. Bird watching, pottery, yoga—candle making, poetry, flower pressing. We don’t talk much—the three of us—but between moments we find some way to communicate. Every time the bookshelf is reorganized, the endless scribbles from my sister on our calendar, the soft, unsure, notes of a piano coming from the basement followed by my mom’s tired sigh, the soothing scents the different parts of the house seems to hold onto.
Deadline
Strange what runs through my mind when the pressure is on. I should be thinking about how many more miles I have left to go and, more importantly, how much time do I have left to get there before my world comes crashing to an end. Instead, I’m thinking about the origin of the word Deadline and how its meaning has changed over the years. I imagine many words can be traced back to their beginnings, but Deadline is particularly special to me right now.
Mark GagnonPublished about 7 hours ago in FictionMy Road to Sobriety
This is the start of my road to sobriety!
From My Bed Blog and VlogPublished about 7 hours ago in Fiction