Short Story
The Letter I Was Never Meant to Read
It was a quiet evening when I stumbled upon the letter. The house was unusually still, the kind of silence that presses on your chest and makes you feel like something is about to change. I hadn’t been looking for secrets; I was simply searching for an old notebook in the wooden chest my mother kept locked in her room. But fate has a strange way of revealing truths when we least expect them.
By Nadeem Shah about a year ago in Fiction
Under the Crimson Sky
The crimson sky stretched endlessly above, its fiery glow spilling across the horizon like blood on sand. For most villagers, it was just another sunset, another day slowly slipping into the night. But for Ayaan, the sight of that sky was both a curse and a reminder—a curse of the past he could never completely bury, and a reminder of the fight he could no longer run away from.
By Nadeem Shah about a year ago in Fiction
Nona. Top Story - September 2025.
I should have ignored the knock on the door. I should have stayed there in my pyjamas and my old lady cardigan, my left eye throbbing. I should have stayed under my blanket, chain-eating snacks, and drowning my last emotion in whiskey. But I dragged myself out of my pit to answer the door. Of course I did. There she was on the doorstep. Rita. In that moment, I was brutally reminded of the first time I'd met her. Back before I upgraded her husband. Ian. God, he'd been a wanker. Her hair had looked like straw then, her skin pink and cracked and flaky. She'd held her handbag like a shield, and her eyes and manner had put me in mind of a frightened rabbit. Look at her now. Her hair is blonde silk. She has glutes that can crack a walnut, and rock hard confidence to match. Her voice has lost that questioning tremor. This contrasts with the haystack on my head, the crumbs down my front, and the confusion in my tone. Rita smiles wide, showing all those veneers. She's having a little get together. Apparently. So she tells me. This is different. New. I am the one who hosts these things. Either here, at my home, or at the property of whoever just moved in. All the same, I tell her, sure, I'll be there. I actually open my mouth to issue a stream of instruction to my AI partner. Jac, lay out an outfit for me while I shower. After that, put together a dish I can take with me... I slam my lips closed like a tomb. My new AI partner is still twitching and gibbering in the corner. It's this, surely, that has triggered this little bit of socialite flair from Rita. She wants to know whether the latest upgrade was a success. She wants details. I get it. In her position, I would too. Maybe she wants to touch on other topics. Like, where is my husband? Where are the girls? Was that implant sterile? How stable is this latest asset? Why not talk to me here? As a friend? Why raise these subjects in front of everyone? This feels calculated. I want to tell her to go fuck herself, but instead I'm acting meek. Saying "give me half an hour to freshen up, would you?" Nodding like a bobble-head, already backing into the hallway, performing the part of someone grateful for the invitation. It fits me like a sickening glove. In the bathroom, I catch my reflection and flinch. The bruising’s bloomed further overnight, a sickly halo around the socket. I dab concealer over it and layer make up over the rest of my face. I hope I look dashing and mysterious. The cardigan goes in the laundry basket.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
Spines. Content Warning.
Winnie leaned toward the mirror in her narrow bathroom, fastening the tag with her full name, Winslow Cooper, the letters too solemn for the face that studied them back. She pressed her collar flat, gathering her cardigan. Beyond the window the street waited, the hour of buses, bakery vans, stirrings of light. She swung her bag over her shoulder, locked the door, and stepped into the cold. The air nipped her cheeks and hurried her steps toward the library.
By Fatal Serendipityabout a year ago in Fiction
Twins, The Unseen Connection
Twins,The Unseen Connection My dad and his twin sister, Nelly, who was actually named Helen but always called Nelly, were born on August 27, 1919. As children, they had an uncanny connection. If one of them cried or laughed, the other would feel it, even if they were in different places.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Fiction
Ms. McFadden
Beverly McFadden Beverly McFadden wore a bright red bucket hat, a navy-blue and orange striped summer dress, one purple shoe and one yellow shoe. She had a white jacket with black polka dots. She rode into town on a heavily used Segway PT. It was slightly modified to reach a top speed of 35 MPH—at least that’s what she said. The fact that she was able to pass several cars on the road made most believe she had to be traveling closer to 50.
By David E. Perryabout a year ago in Fiction
Trills on Fifty Two
The comforter was pulled tight around my head, my back turned to the window against the barrage of sunlight infiltrating my bedroom. The morning glow lit up the clothes scattered around the room like bodies. I did not want to get up from the safety of my sadness and grief. The starless darkness of the night had illuminated my feelings, encouraging me to burrow even deeper into the hollow ache.
By T.L. McConaughyabout a year ago in Fiction
The True Meaning of Loyalty
Ali was just an ordinary young man living in a small town, but one rainy evening changed his life forever. He was returning home from college, his shoes splashing in the puddles, when his eyes caught sight of something unusual.
By New stAr writer about a year ago in Fiction
