Short Story

Micah
The first time I saw Micah, he was talking to a pigeon. “I’m not saying you’re wrong,” he told it, standing under the bus shelter awning while the rain came down in sheets, “I’m just saying the croissant is not gluten-free.”
By Julie O'Hara - Author, Poet and Spiritual Warriorabout a year ago in Fiction
The Angel of Perrysburg, Ohio
In the quaint town of Perrysburg, Ohio where everyday life often felt like an echo of monotony, something extraordinary was about to unfold. It was a warm autumn afternoon, and the town square bustled with activity. Vendors shouted, children laughed, and the aroma of baked goods filled the air. Little did the townsfolk know that today, a mysterious angel was about to grace their lives.
By Julie O'Hara - Author, Poet and Spiritual Warriorabout a year ago in Fiction
Love Unleashed
In the quaint town of Willow Creek, Ohio there existed a curious bubble of contrast: “Paws & Claws Veterinary Clinic,” run by none other than Dr. Max Reynolds ... a confident veterinarian with a penchant for over-explaining things he thought everyone should know. He loved his work, but his attitude often landed him the label of "sexist mansplainer." Down the street, “The Snug Pup Grooming,” was helmed by Ella, a free-spirited dog groomer who believed in holistic care, essential oils, and ... let's be honest ... a world that embraced all things feminist.
By Julie O'Hara - Author, Poet and Spiritual Warriorabout a year ago in Fiction
Midnight in Manhattan
In the heart of 1970s Manhattan, where the city pulsed like a living organism, there was a little coffee shop tucked between the towering skyscrapers on Bleecker Street called The Velvet Clover. It was the kind of place that welcomed tired artists, poets, and dreamers, all searching for connection in a world that spun too quickly.
By Julie O'Hara - Author, Poet and Spiritual Warriorabout a year ago in Fiction
Orbit
They told me you were shy, “the kind that sits in the back of the kennel like he’s hiding from the sun.” The volunteer had a name tag that said LUZ and a smile like a porch light.
By Julie O'Hara - Author, Poet and Spiritual Warriorabout a year ago in Fiction
Don't Eat the Lemons
“The lemons are decorative,” Linda says, plucking one out of the bowl and wiping it with a linen napkin. “Do not eat the lemons.”
By Julie O'Hara - Author, Poet and Spiritual Warriorabout a year ago in Fiction
The Day I Browsed Facebook Dating to Find Someone — Truths, Surprises, and Lessons Learned
Note: This story is shared with permission. Names, locations, and details have been changed for privacy. I may earn a small commission if you use the services mentioned.
By Kameron Shayneabout a year ago in Fiction
The Proud Goat and Her Never-Ending “Meh-Meh
The Proud Goat and Her “Meh-Meh” BY: Ubaid Masood Zaki once said, “The goat is one of the strangest yet most amusing creatures you’ll ever meet.” And he wasn’t wrong. A goat is often proud, vain, and full of herself. She sings her own praises day and night, bleating “Meh! Meh!” as if the whole world must acknowledge her greatness. Now, people usually dislike arrogant individuals. Nobody enjoys the company of those who talk only of themselves. But strangely enough, people do love goats—why? Simply because goats give us milk. That milk is light, easy to digest, and highly nourishing, especially for infants. Sometimes, of course, the goat also gives little droppings along with her milk. Yet the clever milkman quietly removes them before selling the milk. So the proud goat is tolerated, even admired. After all, who can resist her delicious, nutritious gift? --- Of Horns and Quarrels Goats generally have two horns. I say “generally” because now and then, a goat loses a horn or two in a fight. Quarreling is not a good habit—whether among humans or animals. Yet, for goats, fights sometimes prove useful. How so? Well, when Eid-ul-Adha arrives, healthy and flawless goats are often chosen for sacrifice. A goat missing one horn usually escapes this fate. But let’s be honest: how long can a goat’s mother escape destiny? Sooner or later, even she must face the butcher’s knife. And once the butcher gets hold of her, the story takes another turn. He separates the meat from the scraps, but every now and then, he mixes in the scraps with the meat to weigh more. The scraps, however, are not wasted. Cats dream of them endlessly. Cats linger around butcher shops, their eyes glowing, their mouths watering, and their claws ready. For them, goat scraps are a royal feast. --- The Goat’s Milk and the Milkman’s Tricks Our proud goat wishes to provide pure milk with all her heart. But the milkman often spoils her good intentions. To increase profit, he adds water to the milk. Thankfully, an invention came to the rescue—a small device called the lactometer (or “milk tester”). This little tool tells exactly how much water is in the milk. In other words, it separates the milk from the water, truth from deception. Of course, milkmen dislike this device. After all, it exposes their tricks. But here lies an important lesson: whenever an invention is made, one must also think about whose interests it might harm. Otherwise, conflicts are bound to arise. --- The Old Tale of the Lion and the Goat It is said that long ago, lions and goats drank from the same stream. Do we believe it? Hardly. For how can a lion and a goat share the same water peacefully? We believe such a thing is only possible when the goat is inside the lion’s stomach! --- The Danger of Too Much “Meh-Meh” When the goat is in high spirits, she becomes louder than ever, crying “Meh! Meh! Meh!” without pause. She wants the whole world to hear her voice. But too much self-praise, too much noise, is dangerous. If she goes too far, people lose patience. The butcher is called, the knife is sharpened, and her proud neck is sacrificed. This, dear readers, is the end of self-centered pride. --- The Moral for Us The goat’s story is not just about an animal; it is about us too. Many of us behave like the goat—always praising ourselves, always thinking we are the greatest, never listening to others. But life does not work that way. No one likes arrogance. Pride isolates us, while humility connects us. The wise lesson is this: do not always say, “It’s me, only me.” Learn to listen. Learn to share. Learn to value the voices of others. Otherwise, like the goat, we may find ourselves facing the sharp edge of reality. --- Conclusion So the next time you see a goat bleating proudly, remember her story. Remember that self-obsession may give us a temporary stage, but in the end, it leads to downfall. Balance is the key. Just as milk must be free of water, our lives must be free of arrogance. Give, like the goat gives milk—but do not ruin the gift with pride. Listen, share, and stay humble. That is the way to live, to be loved, and to stay safe from the butcher’s knife.
By Ubaid about a year ago in Fiction
The Kite That Became King
The Kite That Became King BY: Ubaid Children, gather round—this is the story of a kite who circled a large dovecote for many days, waiting for the perfect moment to snatch one of the pigeons. The pigeons were swift and clever, quick on the wing. Whenever the kite struck, a pigeon darted away and escaped. The kite grew frustrated. “What shall I do?” she wondered. “How can I catch one of them?” For many restless days she pondered. At last a plan formed in her sharp mind: the pigeons were fast and smart, so she would need a different trick—one that would make them trust her so completely that they would hand themselves over. The kite flew closer to the dovecote and settled near the pigeons. She waited quietly, then spoke kindly in a voice smooth as silk. “Brothers and sisters,” she said, “I am a bird, too. I have two feet and two wings, as you do. I can fly across the sky just like you. The difference is that I am larger and stronger. I am a hunter; I can fight a cat and wound it with my sharp beak and talons. You cannot do that. You are vulnerable to many dangers around you. I want to protect you so you can live in peace and comfort, just as people once lived long ago. Freedom is your birthright, and it is my duty to keep that freedom safe.” The kite promised protection and fairness. She painted a picture of a calm life where the pigeons could wander without fear. “If you will accept me as your king,” she said, “I will make your safety my responsibility. Trust me with authority, and I will keep you free and happy.” Day after day, the kite returned and repeated her gentle words. The pigeons, charmed by her blandishments and reassured by her promise of safety, began to believe her. After long discussion among themselves, they decided to make the kite their ruler. A grand coronation followed, and the pigeons swore loyalty. The kite swore to protect them and uphold justice. For a while everything seemed fine. The kite made good on her vow—at least in part. One day she and her companions chased off a stray owl, driving it away with such ferocity that none of the pigeons doubted her usefulness. The birds felt safer and went about their routines without worry. The kingly kite visited often and watched over the dovecote, and the pigeons, warmed by the feeling of protection, grew complacent. But one morning the kite arrived appearing weak and ill. She landed among the pigeons and spoke in a regal voice. “Brothers and sisters,” she reminded them, “you chose me to be your ruler. I protect you and keep your lives peaceful. But rulers have needs too. It is within my royal right to take one of you when I please, to satisfy my hunger. After all, how long can I live without eating? My family and I risk our lives for your safety—shouldn’t we be allowed a small share?” Before the pigeons could react, the kite swooped down and seized a fat pigeon in her powerful talons. Terror rippled through the flock. That day and all the days after, the kite and her kin returned regularly and took whichever pigeon they desired. The dovecote that had been a place of freedom and ease became a house of fear. The pigeons had traded their liberty for what they thought was protection, only to find themselves at the mercy of the very creature they had crowned. Now the pigeons lived in constant dread. Their peace and sense of freedom were gone. Whispering among themselves, they realized the terrible price they had paid for their gullibility. “We were foolish,” they said. “We trusted flattery and gave away our freedom. What can we do now?” Children, the lesson here is plain: never let sweet words and easy promises take the place of your own judgment. When someone asks for authority over you, think carefully. Beware of charm that asks you to give up your freedom in exchange for protection that ultimately serves the protector more than you. Use your head and your heart together—wisdom keeps you safe where flattery will only lead you into harm. So remember the pigeons and the kite: kindness spoken with a hidden talon can be the most dangerous of lies. Be thoughtful, be cautious, and never surrender your freedom without asking whether it will truly keep you safe.
By Ubaid about a year ago in Fiction
The Archaeology of Sorrow. Content Warning.
Dorothy Kelloway had learned that grief was an archaeologist, uncovering layers of a life she'd never known existed, one heartbreaking artifact at a time.
By Caleb Lahrabout a year ago in Fiction
Tethered/Shackled
Cass stayed in the kitchen. After putting the kettle on, and lining up the mugs like watchful soldiers, she started attacking the drawers. Every kitchen has a junk drawer, right? With a tangle of old wires, a scattering of dead batteries and old keys, and maybe, just maybe, an old phone... The others spread through the house. Nona was already upstairs, pulling boxes from under the bed. Ronnie rifled through drawers, or tipped them out. Sean sloped out to the garage, to check through boxes in there. Then came the knock. Nona ignored it and kept looking. Ronnie froze in the act of enjoying the bedside cabinet.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
Summer of 1975
The summer of 1975 danced on the edges of twilight, where evenings slipped into night with a cool breeze teasing the vibrant energy of a small house party. An eclectic mix of friends gathered in a cozy living room bathed in the warm glow of vintage lamps, their laughter echoing off the wooden paneling that adorned the walls.
By Julie O'Hara - Author, Poet and Spiritual Warriorabout a year ago in Fiction