Short Story
The Woodland's Child
I’m jealous of her. I know I best not; I should be happy that the woman remains a part of my life, but I can’t help but envy the practices of my mother. Everything comes so naturally to her: the plantings, the rituals, the contacting - I would do anything to have the same ease.
By caitodoesstuff2 months ago in Fiction
The Flip Phone
Ring… Ring… Ring… I stopped in my tracks. I had never heard that sound before. I looked down and saw some weird device. It was ringing? What is that? I started thinking to myself. I picked it up and put it in my pocket. I’d be fired for this in a heartbeat if anyone ever found out.
By Charlotte Monroe2 months ago in Fiction
Rumpel Stiltskin?
Introduction Vocal used to have a minimum number of words for most articles and the way to get round this is to submit the piece as a poem so you could get away with less than thirty words, and as I am using chat fiction it could be seen as a form of prose poetry, but I think with this long introduction and my actual story, the whole piece should pass the six hundred word minimum, It is a challenge but Tom Hardy did a whole film, "Locke" based on mobile phone texts so I should be able to breeze past this.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 2 months ago in Fiction
The Bean Burrito
The drive-thru speaker crackled, and I barely looked up from the screen. "Welcome to Sol's Tacos, what can I get started for you?" The voice on the other end was quiet, hesitant- a woman, probably around my mom's age, ordered a single bean burrito and small drink. I punched it in, took her cash at the window, and handed her the bag without thinking twice. It wasn't until she had already started driving away, I noticed her bag and receipt was still on the counter. I'd given her someone else's order- the big order, three quesadillas, two loaded tacos, a nacho supreme, and a large drink. I grabbed her bag and was about to toss it when I saw her car pull in the parking lot. She wasn't going to leave, she was just sitting there, staring at the food like it was something she had never seen before.
By Charlotte Monroe2 months ago in Fiction
The One Night Flake
A smart casual flat. A kitchen nook and a dining table. A sofa and coffee table. A door leading to a lonesome, wanting bed. Paintings and shelves lined with books and knick-knacks and whiff quietly of someone, somewhere, spending their money. And a front door. A front door with a doorbell, one that doesn’t struggle to chime through the flat and into the bedroom.
By Conor Matthews2 months ago in Fiction
The Pain Of The Last
Rolling through the countryside was fun just a year ago. In the time on this Earth one is given, that's an important thing to find and experience: a way to make a fun living. They say if you can find work that you enjoy doing, you never work a day in your life. And that was the case. It didn't feel like work.
By Jason Morton2 months ago in Fiction
Effie & Simon. Top Story - August 2026.
I am at it again. This thing, it fits me, tight, like a glove. Tighter. Like a second skin. My sister isn't here tonight. She has not been here for several nights. She's so waif-like, now, so whisper-thin, that she's almost not anywhere at all. With the shadowy circles under her eyes so dark you could almost believe they were bruises. Maybe they are. May he hit her again.
By L.C. Schäfer2 months ago in Fiction
Nighthawks
"Last call," the man behind the counter joked as he sat my cup of black coffee down in front of me. I knew it was polite to laugh, or even smile, but I didn't. Couldn't. Not yet. I still had on my slicker and hat. A fedora pulled down low to cover my eyes. To cover what was behind them.
By Raine Fielder2 months ago in Fiction
