Short Story

Rebirth
The pounding on my door was rushed and desperate. I let out a deep sigh, finished off my wine glass and opened the door to my sisters. They were carrying a limp man, on holding his feet and one his arms. I stepped to the side and let them in. They shuffled in and dropped him on the living room floor. I flinched seeing his head bounce on the carpet. “There had to be a better way to do that,” I said.
By Imani Waltonabout a year ago in Fiction
The Forest of the Forgotten
The Hole looked exactly the same as it always had—cluttered, chaotic, and filled with treasures from a dozen different worlds. But as Ellie stood in the doorway, taking in the familiar chaos with new eyes, she began to see patterns she'd never noticed before.
By Parsley Rose about a year ago in Fiction
ayuda. Top Story - September 2025. Content Warning.
“ayuda?,” a soft voice knocks on the gates of my sanctuary. a modest plea from the other side of my mental fortress; opposite my walls, locks, moats, and more walls of security after security within my thoughts.
By ⸘jason alan‽about a year ago in Fiction
Imaginary Threads
"Is it off?" the teacher asked. Aster nodded, glum. "Show me." Aster tapped the screen, which stayed blank, and pressed a couple of buttons for good measure. "Good. Pop it in the tray then." It clacked against the others, and the teacher moved on, thrusting the tray at the next student. "Come on," she said. "Phone off and in the box, you know the drill." Aster kept her face a study insullen obedience. Her smile was only on the inside. The device she'd handed in.to Miss Dunnings was the new phone her dad had got her. She didn't like it. It wasn't a very new model, and he'd put a lot of restrictions on it. The other one, the one her mum had given her, had no such restrictions. And this little beauty was hidden in the bottom of her bag right now. The girl behind her leaned over and tapped her on the shoulder. "Is it true your mum went mental and locked some guy in your spare room?" "No," she shot back, "Where did you hear that? We had squatters in the house while we were away, that's all. It's all been sorted out now." "Right. When you say, while we were away, do you mean when you had to do a runner because your mum- She stopped. Their form tutor had finished collecting in all the phones, and was calling for quiet. + Later, at break, she sat on the edge of the planter with two others from her year, sharing a carton of hashbrowns from the canteen. "So you're living with your dad again, now?" said Erika. "Yeah." “Is he normal now?” Aster snorted. "Define normal." "Well, I don't know. You said he did all kinds of weird stuff before. Like wearing all the hats and scarves in the house, or juggling eggs Any silly random thing you asked." " I think if I told him to juggle eggs now, or wear more than one hat, he'd just look at me funny." "Sounds more normal to me, Erika popped the last bite of crispy potato into her mouth, and licked her fingers. "So what actually happened?" she asked. "With your mum?" Aster became very interested in the cuff of her sleeve. "She left. That’s all." "And she didn't lock a man in your- " Aster picked at imaginary threads, scowling. "No," she said. "That's mad. Some crazy homeless guy broke in while we weren't there." "That's not what I heard," Angel said, grinning. "I heard it was your mum's boyfriend. Heard he was pretty hot, too, before your mum messed up his face." Aster couldn't understand why there were so many bizarre invented details to the story. It was quite wild enough. She stood up, brushing crumbs from her skirt. "I've got to go. I'll see you in English." Once she was several paces away, the tears came. She rubbed them away roughly with her fascinating cuff. There were no footsteps hurrying do catch up with her. No voices calling out for her to wait, or saying sorry. Aster didn't know if that was a relief, or the source of another shard of sadness slicing through her. + The toilets were no good. Always crammed at breaktimes. The library was no good either. Too quiet, and too many people at the same time. Aster didn't head for the English stairs, but instead went down the science corridor and turned right. There was a row of lockers down here. In the summer four or five girls from the upper school would be squeezed in there, giggling, eating crisps, or reapplying eyeliner. Today, it was too cold. The radiator was broken, and the nearby door was constantly open. Aster pulled her jacket tighter around herself, and settled in the tiny space. within moments, she had the phone out of it's case. She made sure it was on silent, and then opened the browser. She paused. She had no idea what to search for. "man locked in spare room, news" Would that do it? The page was show to load, and before it did, a new message popped up on the screen. > Aster, is that you? It was from Dad. Aster swiped it away. >Aster, it looks like you're searching something that could be upsetting/inappropriate. Would you like to discuss this? How did he know? Aster swiped this away as well. >Aster, we will be having a conversation about this. I encourage you to make the right choice: put your phone away. Rest assured, I will know whether you make the right choice. Aster tapped "Reply" and jabbed at the keys. -why are you talking like that? U sound stupid > Thank you for catching that. You're used to a certain tone, and I should have held to that. Let's move forward with precision. Aster threw the phone back in her bag as if it had burnt her, got up, and stalked back down the corridor towards the English stairs. The bell rang.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
Knockout. Top Story - September 2025.
I’ve been trying to fall asleep for the past six hours. This is happening more and more often now. I have trouble sleeping. Then I hear that unsettling sound, as if a stranger has intruded upon my privacy, demanding acknowledgment of their presence. It always plays out this way.
By Sun Beeabout a year ago in Fiction
Just like old times. Top Story - September 2025.
Clark lay across the couch watching something on TV when there was an abrupt knock on the door. The knock was so hard, loud and sudden that it startled him, almost causing him to jump out of his position.
By Timothy E Jonesabout a year ago in Fiction
Maurice Needs a Vacation. Top Story - September 2025.
The knock at the front door came in four evenly spaced out, but equally distinct, thumps. “No,” said Maurice from the kitchen table. He spooned another bite of Captain Crunch into his mouth and chewed loudly.
By Amos Gladeabout a year ago in Fiction
Ditched and Cleaned
In the morning after the botched romantic night, while getting ready to go to work, Brad said to Emily, “Babe, I’m so sorry about yesterday. I should have told you about the allergy. I just thought that since it’s so rare and I never buy anything with rosehip I didn’t really need to.”
By Lana V Lynxabout a year ago in Fiction
The Fawn Who Forgot His Mother’s Words
The Fawn Who Forgot His Mother’s Words BY:Ubaid In the heart of a dense forest, surrounded by towering trees and thick shrubs, there lived a graceful doe with her delicate, beloved fawn. The little one was so small that he could barely stand on his wobbly legs when his mother had already begun teaching him the ways of the wild. She knew the forest was full of dangers, and she could not be certain how long she would remain by his side. Hunters roamed the woods with guns and traps, while lions, leopards, and wolves prowled in search of prey. The doe’s heart was always restless. At the faintest sound, she would leap in fright, for her little fawn could not yet run fast enough to follow her. In those moments of danger, she would signal her baby to hide in tall grass or thick bushes while she bolted far away to distract predators or hunters. What she longed for most was the day her child would be strong enough to roam freely with her along the riverbank, to graze in the open meadows, and to escape swiftly from danger. Time passed, and slowly the fawn grew. He began following his mother into the forest, learning how to stay still in the shadows, how to leap gracefully, and how to vanish into the grass when threatened. The doe taught him every trick of survival she knew. One evening, as she lovingly nuzzled him, she said with a heavy heart, “My child, I do not know how long I will be with you. One day, when you are grown, you will go your own way, and my duty to protect you will be over. But it could happen that danger separates us before that day arrives. So remember my words carefully. Your heart will always warn you when danger is near—listen to it. Keep your ears sharp, and when you must run, always choose wide open paths, not narrow ones. Never pause on high ground, for there you are most visible and easily targeted. And above all, my son, never forget this truth: you are a deer, fragile and gentle. From wolves to lions, every beast stronger than you is your enemy. Stay with your own kind. Do not befriend the powerful, for that will only bring harm.” The little fawn listened with wide, innocent eyes, absorbing her wisdom. But one day, curiosity led him astray. His mother had gone off with the herd, and left alone, he wandered through the woods. There, in a sunny clearing, he found three lion cubs tumbling and wrestling in a pile of dry grass. At first, he stood at a distance, enchanted by their play. The cubs chased each other, climbed on one another’s backs, and rolled about in joy. The sight was so delightful that soon the fawn forgot his fear. Slowly, he stepped closer, and before long, he was leaping and running with them as though they were old friends. The cubs welcomed him with playful innocence. They tugged at his ears, jumped over his back, and treated him as one of their own. Time passed swiftly until the fawn suddenly remembered his mother and rushed home. When he arrived, the doe was waiting anxiously. He told her everything. Her heart sank with dread. She scolded him sternly: “Foolish child! Lions are not your friends. Their cubs may play with you today, but when they grow, they will tear you apart. And if their mother catches you with them, she will kill you instantly.” The fawn, still intoxicated by his new adventure, refused to believe her. “But Mother,” he insisted, “the cubs like me. They would never hurt me. We are friends now.” The very next morning, fate struck. Hunters captured the doe as she grazed with the herd. She never returned. The young deer was left alone. For days, he survived on grass, feeling lonely and lost. At first, he kept his promise to his mother and avoided the cubs. But loneliness gnawed at his heart, and soon he returned to the clearing. The lion cubs were there, larger and stronger than before, but they greeted him eagerly. They played together as they had before—until the cubs’ mother appeared. The lioness froze at the sight of a deer among her children. Her instincts flared, and with a powerful bound she struck. Her paw landed on the fawn with crushing force, hurling him into the air. He crashed to the ground, bleeding and broken. The cubs circled, eager to pounce, but the fawn—though wounded—gathered all his strength and fled. Somehow, he slipped away into the safety of the forest. Gasping and trembling, he collapsed far from the danger. His mother’s voice echoed in his mind: “Stay with your own kind. Do not befriend the strong, or you will suffer harm.” The fawn healed slowly, but the scars remained—not only on his body but in his heart. From that day onward, he lived by his mother’s words. He never again sought friendship from those stronger than himself, for he had learned that wisdom comes at a heavy price when ignored. And so, the young deer grew wise, carrying his mother’s lesson with him always: to know who he was, to stay with his own, and to never forget the warnings of love.
By Ubaid about a year ago in Fiction
The Missing Ledger
In the small town of Millford, Ohio, where the days blended into one another under a canopy of maple trees, 38-year-old Ellen Porter arrived in the spring of 2025. After years as an accountant in Cleveland, where the city’s noise and pressure wore her down, she’d taken a job at Millford’s town hall to escape the grind. The town was unremarkable—neat lawns, a single diner called Betty’s, and a library that doubled as a community center. Ellen, with her practical mindset and reserved nature, wanted a life with less chaos, even if it meant embracing boredom.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker's Secret
In the sleepy town of Willow Creek, nestled among rolling hills, 32-year-old Clara Bennett sought a quiet life. After years as a journalist in bustling Chicago, she craved simplicity and bought a quaint antique shop on Main Street in 2025. The shop, once owned by a reclusive clockmaker named Amos Reed, was a treasure trove of ticking relics, each clock whispering stories of a bygone era. Clara, with her sharp curiosity and knack for uncovering truths, felt drawn to the place, sensing it held more than dusty heirlooms.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
Echoes in the Attic
The old Victorian house on Elm Street had always been a mystery to the neighborhood kids. With its creaking shutters and overgrown ivy, it looked like something out of a ghost story. But for Mia, it wasn't just a spooky landmark—it was her new home. At 28, she'd inherited it from a great-aunt she barely remembered, a woman named Evelyn who'd lived there alone for decades. Mia, fresh out of a bad breakup and a dead-end job in the city, saw it as a fresh start. Little did she know, the house held echoes that would unravel her own life.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction