family

What Would You Say. Top Story - September 2026.
Last Call challenge: Prompt - Write a story inspired by the phrase "last call." "Last call" can mean different things depending on who's listening. It might be the end of a night, one final opportunity, or the moment someone realizes they're almost out of time. Write a story inspired by the phrase "last call." You can interpret it however you like. Set it in a bar, an airport, a hospital, a small town, or somewhere entirely unexpected. Focus on what happens when the clock is running out. Whether your characters seize the moment, hesitate, or let it slip away, let that sense of urgency drive the story.
By Denise E Lindquist12 days ago in Fiction
Tea with Friends
Note: the prompt for this Challenge was the following lyric from The Doors: Women seem wicked when you're unwanted I have heard this particular line many times, and I still think it is one of their best songs ( 'People Are Strange' ). And I think a drabble is in order.
By Kendall Defoe 13 days ago in Fiction
Quiet Bar, Silent Strains. Top Story - September 2026.
Rose liked the bar’s quiet atmosphere. Here, her mind could expand. Ideas for her story were already forming. Charlie the dog lay in front of the fire, absorbing the comforting heat.
By Ruth Stewart13 days ago in Fiction
The Last Train
At 11:48 p.m., Clara found herself standing on a train platform she had never seen before. There were no advertisements, vending machines or other passengers.
By Ajan Lori A. 13 days ago in Fiction
The Call Before the Sirens
At 6:43 p.m., the loudspeaker announced the last ferry. "Final boarding for the mainland. All remaining passengers proceed to Gate Two."
By Alain SUPPINI15 days ago in Fiction
Toilet Monster Baby.. Top Story - September 2026.
"Where's Ethan?" I asked as I entered the living room with my son's food. I didn't have a dining room, so I had to make-shift a dining area with a towel on the carpet, until I could get one.
By Carol Ann Townend15 days ago in Fiction
The Illumination of The Grouch from Sesame Street. Top Story - September 2026.
Snuffleupagus was walking through the park singing to himself. Today was a big day. Big Bird had told him he was getting all of his friends together so that they could finally meet Snuffleupagus. They had tried before, of course, but something always happened. Someone was late. Snuffleupagus had to leave. Big Bird would turn around and suddenly no one could see him. But today was supposed to be the day, and Snuffleupagus was happy about it.
By Chase McQuade15 days ago in Fiction
The Mountain Keeps No Secrets
The fog had swallowed the ridge by the time they reached the tree line, and Stevie decided that was probably a mercy. Somewhere up there the mountain kept climbing toward a peak none of them could see, snow-heavy pines standing sentry along a trail that existed mostly by habit and old boot tracks half filled in overnight.
By Diane Foster16 days ago in Fiction
INHERITANCE
ATLANTA, GA She drove into the fresh morning dawn, humming something low and light drifting from SiriusXM smooth jazz. The sky over the pines was a pale blue portrait brushed with long wisps of raw cotton, stretched across a blue canvas like an artist had left faint trails behind. Honeysuckle drifted through the air — sweet enough to make her slow down and breathe it in.
By Reneegede716 days ago in Fiction
Reality Check
Mama said to her babies I’m running out for awhile Do not open the door for a stranger They will try to deceive you by wearing a smile
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden16 days ago in Fiction
This Call May Be Remembered
At 11:43 p.m., the living began calling their dead all at once. Grief was normally kept to twelve-minute appointments. With seventeen minutes left, everyone had remembered the deadline.
By Iris Obscura16 days ago in Fiction
Last Call
Last Call “Right, last call” echos through the crowded bar from a young man standing by the beer taps. There’s a bustle of bodies round the bar like calves at their troughs for their last drink before the night runs dry. A man stands, leaning his thin frame on the bar and orders a whisky. He’s not an old man at all, not nearly as old as the deep lines and shaggy whiskers on his handsome face portray him. “That’s £4” the man behind the bar says as he watches the man throwing change from his pocket onto the counter, though most are coppers. He meets the man’s eye and looks at him, a look somewhere between judgment and pity but he takes the money from the bar and turns to busy himself, turning a blind eye to the pennies he was short.
By Mel.W17 days ago in Fiction