Short Story

Residency
“A residency?” “Yes mama,” I sighed. “What does that mean?” she asked. “I live there with twelve other artists,” I said.
By Raine Fielderabout a year ago in Fiction
My Imaginary Friend Turned Real Overnight
When I was seven, I had an imaginary friend named Eli. He had messy hair, a crooked smile, and an endless supply of encouragement.
By Habib kingabout a year ago in Fiction
Snow
Sitting by my fire on a cold, gray day, I hear children laughing and yelling outside. Annoyance hits me like cold seeping in through a cracked window, slow, invasive, and impossible to ignore. The schools may be closed due to snow, but I still have to work from home. The glow of my computer screen is a poor substitute for sunlight, but it demands my attention all the same. I rise to close the thick curtains, hoping to muffle the noise, but my hand stills on the fabric when I catch sight of the scene beyond the glass.
By Dawn Logginsabout a year ago in Fiction
A Brother or a Stranger?
Alex Johnson had just graduated from the University of Texas. During college, he ran a small but successful barbecue food truck on campus. His small but thriving business was able to cover his school expenses. His skill in grilling attracted so many customers, so much so that he was nicknamed "A-Grills" by his colleagues. Alex had grown up with his older cousin, Tony, who now lived in Houston. Growing up, they were inseparable. Tony always looked after his cousin; he would defend Alex whenever he was bullied at school. "You are my brother," he would say, "as such, it is my responsibility to ensure that no one dares to lay a finger on you" he would affirm. He would always share his snacks with Alex, though coming from a less financially buoyant family, Tony's presence in his life made it easier to navigate.
By Sam Clarkabout a year ago in Fiction
*The Clockmaker's Promise*
In a quiet town nestled between rolling hills and a slow-moving river, there stood a small shop with a crooked sign that read “Timeless Hands.” Inside, the air was warm and still, filled with the soft, steady rhythm of ticking clocks. Wall clocks, pocket watches, mantel clocks—they all chimed and clicked in quiet harmony, each keeping time in its own way.
By meerjananabout a year ago in Fiction
Operation Lassi Spill
It was one of those golden Punjabi afternoons—the kind where the sun hangs warm in the sky, the air smells of cardamom and fresh roti, and every lane in the village hums with celebration. A wedding was in full swing, the biggest the village had seen in years. Banners fluttered above the courtyard, children darted between guests with sticky fingers, and uncles danced with the kind of energy that defied their age.
By meerjananabout a year ago in Fiction
The Letter That Arrived Too Late
It was a rainy Thursday morning when Sarah found the letter. It wasn’t in her mailbox, but wedged between two old books on her dusty living room shelf. She had no idea how it got there — or how long it had been hiding. The envelope was yellowed with age, the edges curled, the ink faded. But her name was written across the front in a handwriting she knew all too well.
By Aminullahabout a year ago in Fiction
I Tried SentryLink for a Background Check — Here’s What I Learned
Disclosure: Some links, like Spokeo, are tools I’ve personally used and found helpful. If you use them, I may receive a small commission at no extra cost to you. My recommendations are based on genuine experience.
By Sophia Davisabout a year ago in Fiction
The Left-Handed Gift
Today is International Left-Handed Day--a day for those who are left-handed to raise it proudly. In a world where the right-handed steer the course.
By Michelle Liew Tsui-Linabout a year ago in Fiction
The River Remembers
The river had always felt alive to me. Even when I was seven and its current nearly pulled me under, I could swear I heard it whisper my name before the darkness came. That summer, I promised myself I’d never come back. But promises are fragile things. Fourteen years later, I found myself standing at its edge again. The water shimmered under a late afternoon sun, deceptively calm. The air carried the same damp, earthy smell I remembered from the day I almost drowned. I told myself I was only here to prove I wasn’t afraid anymore. That the river was just water and stone. That I was grown now. Then I heard it—a small, desperate cry.
By Harleyabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Shop on Memory Lane. AI-Generated.
Story It was the kind of place you could walk past a hundred times without seeing. Tucked between a boarded-up bakery and a shuttered tailor’s shop stood a narrow storefront with a hand-painted sign: The Last Shop on Memory Lane. The letters were faded, the window display cluttered with mismatched odds and ends—a porcelain bird with a cracked wing, a jar of buttons, a single roller skate, a brass clock that had stopped at 3:17.
By waseem khanabout a year ago in Fiction
I Found a Fake Tinder Profile and How I Knew It Was Fake
Disclosure: Some links, like Social Catfish, are tools I’ve personally used and found helpful. If you use them, I may receive a small commission at no extra cost to you. My recommendations are based on genuine experience.
By Liora Fenwynabout a year ago in Fiction