Historical

Hera’s Birds
I can’t think about peacocks without thinking about Flannery O’Connor, who raised them at Andalusia, her farm on US 441 between Milledgeville and Lake Sinclair.
By Harper Lewis a day ago in Fiction
We Don't Talk to Edith Thompson Part 2. Content Warning.
Ch 2: Don't September 2nd, 2025, 8:35 AM "W-what do you mean, 'we don't talk to Edith Thompson'?" I questioned, my mind spinning from this confusing revelation.
By Rain Dayze3 days ago in Fiction
We Don't Talk to Edith Thompson Part 1. Content Warning.
Hello everyone, and welcome to Spooky Season Eve! Just kidding, but Halloween is, in fact, only 11 days away. It was for this reason that I wrote this short story last year. The story was one of my first since joining Inkitt, but I have uploaded it in various places for readers' enjoyment. I present to you: We Don't Talk to Edith Thompson, a mysterious, thrilling tale about a mother and daughter moving to a new town. Enjoy and stay spooky!
By Rain Dayze5 days ago in Fiction
3 teacups. Top Story - October 2026.
You never thought you’d be able to juggle safety and absurdity so well, yet here you are. You’re looking at your wife, her face flushed, her hair a mess from an abrupt, sudden wake up call in the middle of the night. All she wanted was tea.
By Melissa Ingoldsby5 days ago in Fiction
Burden borne. Honorable Mention in You Are Here Challenge. Top Story - October 2026.
Feet drag across the sidewalk, so slowly that you barely register their movement as your own. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.
By Joe O’Connor16 days ago in Fiction
Man from the Stars
The jousting lances clashed with a clang so loud it shook the very sand beneath the horses’ hooves. Your breath hitched in your throat. As exhilarating as the tournament was, there still ached a severe pain inside you when you watched.
By Bird House16 days ago in Fiction
Your first 24 hours on my rock by the sea . Top Story - October 2026.
Hey you! Yes, YOU! This rock you see in the photo before you? It belongs to ME! My family and I discovered it while exploring an untamed, island wilderness east of New York City. The Atlantic island we traversed was largely unpeopled (or at least unsettled by Spinellis).
By Sam Spinelli16 days ago in Fiction
Buttons
You stand in the glowing cubical: four white walls, one overhead white light, nothing colorful rainbow hues to interrupt the monotony.
By Matthew J. Fromm16 days ago in Fiction
The 80s and 90s were crazy, dude!
Hello and welcome to the “I don’t know what to write about?” Corner. I think you call it writer’s block. Yeah, many writers get this annoying thing; you're not alone. That’s why you are here. I bet you are sitting in your favorite spot, laptop open, staring at your screen, trying to figure out what the hell you should write about.
By stephanie borges17 days ago in Fiction
Change Your Narrative.
You are here, now, but it is not where you are meant to be. You cannot control this world into which your soul has brought you. Generations of ancestors dreamed of creating a world for their children’s children, knowing reality has a way of nurturing and shattering dreams. This was not where you are supposed to be.
By Katherine D. Graham17 days ago in Fiction
Northern tribal
Gaius Julius stood , overlooking the Northern Sea, with his friend Marcus Antonius. It was a bright, clear day and they could see the white cliffs of the land beyond.
By Raymond G Taylor18 days ago in Fiction
Yearning for the maiden
“Staring across the waters again ?" Marcus asked. It was as if his friend were in a trance. "Look... look... you can just see them."
By Raymond G Taylor18 days ago in Fiction