Psychological
Spineless spine. Top Story - May 2026.
I don’t know how, and I don’t know when, but I’ve pinched something in my spine, and now I can’t sleep. I’m lying here at seven in the morning after a night shift, and my spine burns and pulses. It wants out. I rolled to the other side, and it picked up the pace. Now it pulses, burns, and cracks. It doesn’t like me. It doesn’t want to be with me. It wants to leave.
By George Roast6 months ago in Fiction
The Town That Applauded at Funerals
The first time Jonah heard the applause, he thought someone had won something. It rose from the center of town just as the bus pulled away, leaving him with one suitcase, one garment bag, and the stale taste of seven hours on the road. The sound came rolling over the square in waves: hundreds of hands striking together, not politely, not briefly, but with force. With feeling.
By Jason Hair-Wynn6 months ago in Fiction
Villain in the World. Content Warning.
“Forgive me." A fractured glimpse of a broken memory surged through his mind. It was sharp and haunting, but vanished into the void just like it was. A single teardrop fell on the back of his left hand. The teardrop was cool and heavy, but also silent to him. He turned his eyes to it, but surprisingly was numb to its touch.
By sfhbmjfawfg6 months ago in Fiction
The Girl Who Appeared in Midway
The rain fell softly over the lonely highway, turning the dark road into a silver ribbon under the dim headlights of Ethan’s old car. Midnight had already passed, and the world seemed asleep. Only the sound of the engine and the endless storm kept him company.
By younas khan6 months ago in Fiction
Shelf Life
I sit on a shelf in the dusty corner of the local hospice charity shop. I sit and wait. Wait for someone to take pity on me. My lacy exterior, fishnetted bulletproof sexuality hides the burden of what I've endured to reach this stage in my life when I am sat on a shelf as people look for bargain deals on preworn bras and knitting needles or that autobiography by Melania. How did I get here you might ask? How did my once sexually provocative and fiercely confident self end up with a fine layer of the rested remnants of human skin and other waste products gathering on my frayed nylon stitching? How did I get separated from my twin sister? Who would even decide that a used single suspender would be anything someone would want to buy? While I can't answer that question as still I sit, I can tell you the tale of how I came to be where I am. I was made as so many fast fashion pieces of lingerie are made, in a factory overseas. Is it overseas if that's where you're from or is it relative to where you are? If you're imagining a large landmass country near Japan and Russia, then you're thinking about the right spot. I was shipped out to the UK with my sister. Oh how I miss her. We spent our lives wrapped in plastic initially, with cardboard bondage. Our purpose was titillation and flirtation, to drive the hearts and loins of those whose eyes feasted on us into a frenzy. I remember the day we were taken from our retail nightmare prison and released to our new owner. A short and stout girl named Martina who had a date with a guy on Tinder called Gregory or Geoff. I cannot remember his name anymore. There have been so many men. So many women. So many times I've been hoisted up and peeled down legs in all positions. Akimbo, the dog, the wheelbarrow and the cowgirl were all overused favourites of the various owners. How did we come to just be me? There was a girl. Young and full of zest. Let's call her Sally. She was working as a stripper in a very exclusive club on the seedy side of town. You know the sort. The city doesn't matter. Anyway, she was working the bar and booths. A gentleman got a little handsy with me and my sis. He wouldn't take no for an answer. Entitled and ugly with a swollen gout-ridden limp and breath like damp pub carpets. We didn't even get a chance to say goodbye because once the security had beat up the top cut feely gentleman, sis, my dear Marie, was gone. When we were separated it felt like my very heart had been ripped in two. The last I saw was her lying lifeless on the club floor as Sally headed out into the night with me clinging to her right leg and waist with all my might. I still can't tell how much of the moisture gathering on me was tears, sweat or rain. Eventually I was discarded. Accidentally thrown into a bag of worn (and washed) underwear. * Thanks for reading! Author's Notes: So the inspiration for this story came from a chat between myself and Cristal S. in the comments section of her recent runner-up story Simply a Misunderstanding.
By Paul Stewart6 months ago in Fiction
Hourglass: A Tale of Anxiety Part 3. Content Warning.
“P.S. You’re not going to die. Here’s the truth: It feels like you are. It feels like a lion is chasing you. It feels like a bear has spotted you. But it’s just the anxiety. You’re safe.” — Glennon Doyle This story is one of many in 🎗A Mental Health Awareness Month initiative🎗 held by Fictionry.com Please join us: https://www.fictionry.com/events/mental-health-awareness-2026
By Rain Dayze6 months ago in Fiction
Madison Montgomery's Monologue. Content Warning.
Everything feels so boring and pointless. People probably think I’m a whore. That I’m a bitch. That I’m hateful. And… maybe they’re right. But I know the truth. I know what everyone really wants. In the end, they all desperately want to fuck me. They see me as a piece of meat with no feelings and actually believe they can have me.
By Cesar González Torres6 months ago in Fiction
