Short Story

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By Julie Smithabout a year ago in Fiction
The King of the Jungle and the Queen of the Street
The jungle was unusually quiet that year. The rains hadn’t come as they usually did, and the rivers had started to dry. Trees stood still, their leaves dull and tired, and the animals had grown restless. Food was becoming scarce, and territory disputes were more common than ever. Yet one creature remained unaffected by it all — the lion, known as Babar.
By Shakoorabout a year ago in Fiction
Unheard Words
He announced it as the door closed. Mr. Daniel Barrington at the head of the large oak table bellowed, but it registered as a whisper once Althea Groves, 41, had left the room. She stopped short and looked at the door. It seemed like an albatross spread its wings just at the entrance, but this became a phantasm. As Althea walked away. What did he say?
By Skyler Saundersabout a year ago in Fiction
Eden
“Eden” was a poor, though optimistic, nickname for this lifeless planet. The desert is endless. Shades of brown and red all the way to the horizon, where ancient, well-worn mountains slouch against a sky tinged pink with dust.
By Rosie Ford about a year ago in Fiction
My Summer Plans - Ruined...
My summer had been planned 4 different times this year. I like planning. I do not like my plans changing - let alone getting smashed into smithereens!
By Adora Hooperabout a year ago in Fiction
Seasons Are Transient . Honorable Mention in The Summer That Wasn’t Challenge.
The cumulus clouds neatly puncture through the heat haze rising from the smoldering asphalt. They cruise at a speed slow enough that pedestrians stop to admire them, hovering above their sweaty scalps as they gallivant through the streets. Floating through a late-July cerulean sky, the clouds are a visual reminder of the vivacity of summer, but also of its ephemerality. Soon, just like the clouds, summer will dissipate.
By Jose Antonio Sotoabout a year ago in Fiction
Full Circle
The heat swirls around my head while the wind in the rest stop picks up. Dust is in the air trying to make its way to my eyes, but my sunglasses are blocking it out… mostly. I had been standing here, waiting for her to finally be done in the bathroom, but she was taking her time. She knew as well as I did that the longer we waited, the hotter it was going to be in the truck. A truck that did not have the greatest working air conditioning system. It was the whole reason we left as early as we did, to beat the heat.
By Gunnar Andersonabout a year ago in Fiction
My Happy Boy . Runner-Up in The Summer That Wasn’t Challenge. Content Warning.
The last time I saw my son… Well, that was back in 2008– right after his 12th birthday.” She looks out to the sea and beyond the horizon.
By Sam Spinelliabout a year ago in Fiction
The Summer that Stayed in Boxes
I wasn’t supposed to be here in July. That was the first thing I told myself every morning while brushing my teeth with the taste of cardboard still stuck on the roof of my mouth.
By Cadmaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Letter I Was Never Meant to Read
By Nadeem Shah It was tucked inside the back of an old shoebox—between brittle birthday cards and a black-and-white photo of a woman I didn’t recognize. I wasn’t supposed to find it. But fate has a cruel way of revealing things when you’re least prepared.
By Nadeem Shah about a year ago in Fiction
Surface Tension. Top Story - August 2025.
“What do you see?” An endless, white sandy beach. The crystalline waters of the ocean are turquoise and emerald. The waves lap against the sand. The sky is dotted with peach and lavender clouds. It’s almost sunset.
By Elizabeth Kaye Daughertyabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Summer
That was the year, of course, that broke all the records. Again. The last school bus circled for the third time, the last horn blasts louder, the last cheering echoes from its sealed up windows happier, the last withered waves from her colleagues and peers, even a few administrators, fiercer. This tradition of the school busses circling the parking lot a few times on the last day before summer was one of Miss Lindsey’s more appreciated events, so she held off returning to her classroom. Another of her more appreciated experiences as a teacher was a classroom empty of children, none more keenly relished than an emptiness ten weeks long.
By Bernard Bleskeabout a year ago in Fiction