Short Story
The Final Verse
Today was the beginning. The first man jumped at 8:17 a.m. He was a construction worker eating breakfast on the thirty-second floor of a high-rise. Security footage showed him freeze mid-bite, tilt his head as though someone had whispered his name, smile softly, and walk to the edge. He stepped off without hesitation.
By Kaori Knight 2 months ago in Fiction
The unlabelled jar
Chantal arrived at the shared house for a month; she immediately helped herself to everything. Entitled, ignoring boundaries, she went through shelves and foods that weren’t hers. She used anything from oats to unlabelled glass containers--she disliked plastic.
By Susan Fourtané 2 months ago in Fiction
The Journey Ends Here. Top Story - July 2026.
The greatest and most disturbing thing that I have ever learned about humanity is the extent of our mortality: that in all the vastness of space, from the smallest molecule to the stars and planets, we really are just a blip in time. The universe has no limits, no boundaries, nor does it have anything to tell it to stop. It took chance after chance, rolling the dice, and we are the product of the one time that the universe got it right. This knowledge, once accepted, has a way of changing people. It crushes egos, shakes the soul into oblivion, and pushes the human psyche into madness so uncontrollable that a person would rather die than live every day consumed by an insatiable fear. Because how does one cope with the realization that every mundane encounter, every success, every loss, and every failure is ultimately meaningless? Humanity cannot fathom it, and that is why we ask questions like “Why do bad things happen to good people,” or “Why me?”
By L.M. Marlin2 months ago in Fiction
Crumpled Paper. Top Story - July 2026.
They say you never see a stranger’s face in your dreams. That every face you see in your dreams is someone stored in your subconscious. The woman at the grocery store sniffing the tomatoes last week, the kindly old man behind the counter who snuck you a free cookie at the bakery when you were five, the guy dancing in the background for three quarters of a second in a minor scene of your favorite movie.
By Amos Glade2 months ago in Fiction
The Address Numbers
She looked at the court summons stating she must appear again regarding her house. Her address was printed prominently in the upper right corner of the letter. The judge was affable but stern during her first time in front of the bench. The enforcement officer was there as well, and he sat with a plain look on his face and an odd smirk in his eyes.
By Ernest Taulbee2 months ago in Fiction
The Final Call
Todd spent his entire life as a proud atheist. Father Fishman's death destroyed him. That was his best friend, Bobby. He had saved his life. Father Fishman was loved by his clergy, and even when Todd felt unwelcome at church, Bobby had a way of making his worries wither. His first point of call was to ring Bobby's grandfather.
By Chloe Gilholy2 months ago in Fiction
Elephant in the Room
They sat at a booth in the back of the pizza parlor. He twirled the golden cross around his neck; she twisted the mood ring on her right hand. He watched a football game on the TV above her head, and she kept her bright gray eyes on the wolf tattoo on his bicep. The past few weeks since she had met him, she loved to watch the ink canine stare back at her with golden eyes that showed no judgment. It brought her comfort.
By Stephanie Hoogstad2 months ago in Fiction
