Short Story

The Standard of Dreams
Creaks from the rocking chair on the porch did not disturb Howser the English bulldog. In fact, he just laid there with his eyes trained on the lights passing by the Newark, Delaware house. Maston Nimble, 39, with flecks of gray in his hair and beard rocked. His black skin contrasted with the light gray chair. He had both arms on the rests of the chair and looked on with Howser. His lanky six-foot-five inch frame fit the seat like a fist resting in a palm. A sigh slipped from his lips. With a quick glance at his watch he remembered that the boiling eggs had to be addressed. When he journeyed into the house, he could smell the putrid scent of burnt eggs and wondered why the fire alarm didn’t sound. He took the pan off of the heat and washed it with cold water. The smell of scorched eggs punched a hole through Nimble’s consciousness.
By Sky Saunders13 days ago in Fiction
Train #H34V317. Honorable Mention in Last Call Challenge.
Micah sat frozen, crouched over his legs staring at the cold laminate ticket in his hands. Mesmerized by the print of his name and the “One Way Express” labeled at the top, he didn’t even realize he hadn’t moved a muscle since sitting down. The sky blue borders of the card shimmered in the light, and along with the glare of its plastic covering stared a photo of him he didn’t even remember taking. Thinking it was too good to be true, he gently started to rub his name to find a printing mistake that must have occurred. He knew there weren’t mistakes with this trip, but he still couldn’t trust it. There was no way we deserved this ticket. Before he sat down, he asked station attendants and fellow travelers if fakes were passed out to trap people and lock them up. They just started, tilted their heads slightly in confusion, and patted his shoulder before walking away to try and comfort his anxieties. This did not work.
By Lizzie Laus13 days ago in Fiction
A Good Girl
I was just a lonely young man. Having lost so many family members, my own father included and never had a mother, I always felt alone and a little lost. My feet were never on the ground for long and when I finally felt as if I had found some footing, I’d screw it up again. Somehow, by the grace of God is what I believe anymore, I gave myself security. I graduated college, living in a new state, had a great paying job, owned a new apartment, but still alone.
By Amy13 days ago in Fiction
The last call at the Atkinson River Mining Company. Runner-Up in Last Call Challenge.
Although Joan O’Donohoe was a small-framed, elderly woman, her presence could still be imposing, at least for anyone who wasn’t polite to her on the phone. As the switchboard operator at the Atkinson River Mining Company for the last 42 years, she’d taken plenty of phone calls.
By D-Donohoe13 days ago in Fiction
When The Bell Sounds. Content Warning.
Everyone knows the saying. Not everyone pays attention, though. So when Eve moved into the town of Ashveil Hollow three weeks before Halloween, she didn't think anything of it when the flyers and notices started showing up— signs nailed to the door of the old church no one really went to anymore.
By Chel Writes13 days ago in Fiction
SEE ME
I started life off in a field, with so many rooms surrounding me, so many rooms at my disposal. Childhood was easy because it was a lot of searching through different rooms, examining what they had to offer, but knowing the doors would always stay open. But once I reached adulthood, I learned that someone started locking the doors.
By Stephen Kramer Avitabile13 days ago in Fiction
Hold The Line
At eleven-thirty on Vera Power's last night at the switchboard, the Thompsons are the only people left on the line. Vera wipes her hands on her apron, takes a breath, then lifts the receiver. “Busy as all get-out tonight,” says the unmistakable voice of Blanche Thompson. “Don’t look like they’re going to miss you one bit, do it?”
By Edward Smith13 days ago in Fiction
Last Call in Room Four
There is a pulse in waiting, tick, tock, tick, tock, makes it easier to breathe, or harder not to. And breathing to the beat, in, out, in, out, makes it harder to hold a hope, once it gets tangled and frayed, once it isn’t neat. Once it loses that steady, even pace, so you can either grip the chair or let it go, and to sate the mind, which loves a distraction, stare at another. There’s no shortage.
By Edward Smith13 days ago in Fiction
A Rocket Woman
Dear Xavier, This is the last call. Last call for me to change my mind and be someone else. Last call to gather with the ones I love. The last call to look up at the stars from below and wish for the next great opportunity on the shooting ones. They tell you that knowing you are going to die can help you better prepare and appreciate the time you have left. I find it taunting and daunting. I find the thoughts intensifying and petrifying. I find this chapter in my life unsettling and unnerving. Ok, I promise I am done with the incessant rambling. What else is a person supposed to do when they are not sure how many words they have left? Even more specific, how many will cross the ears and eyes of those around me before I have passed. Most of my conversation will soon be directed towards myself. I voluntarily stood at the front of the line for this position. So, being metaphorically tied to the stake and burned alive was actually optional. Sue me… I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to be amongst the dreams and far from the wreckage we call an “evolving world”. Full translation being a pile of garbage on its way to mass extinction . End quote. Wanted is a strong past tense word. It is lacking a flavorful will to still want. However, there is no changing gears and reversing. There is no magical remote that could rewind me to the previous and final time they allowed me to abort. My new home is to be a hunk of metal and my bed a sleeping bag I have the privilege of being tethered to. I am on a mission to find a way to save what has been intentionally damaged, and in the process, losing all I have to do so. A one way mission with no slip allowing me passage back.
By Ashley Wrigley13 days ago in Fiction
All Aboard. Top Story - September 2026.
Factor's words grate on my ears as he read out the next departure time. Their high, almost whining voice like roofing nails dragged across clean steel, sinking into my teeth. In spite of that, I don't dare remove my helmet and its integrated earpiece. I need to know how many elevators are left. I cannot be left behind.
By Alexander McEvoy13 days ago in Fiction
Last Call to Summer
Summer of 04 Dodger watched Masie’s pale yellow Mustang kick up gravel from the Swensons’ long, rugged driveway. The top was down, allowing him to see her companions, Melody and Sarah, who were animatedly bopping and singing along to something. Billie’s smile was wide as she came running out her house, the screen door swinging behind her, she vaulted like a gymnast into the back seat.
By Nikki Torino Wagner13 days ago in Fiction
Final Report
The full moon was its biggest, brightest self, and seemed to be enjoying its freedom in the massive Montana sky. Wolves howled mournfully in the distance. One of the four men seated round the fire turned and looked toward the cries in the dark.
By Canute Limarider13 days ago in Fiction