Short Story

"The Last Seat on the Bus"
The worst day of my life started with spilled coffee and ended with a stranger changing everything. It wasn’t just a bad day—it was one of those life-is-piling-on kind of days. I overslept, missed an important client call, got publicly criticized by my manager, and spilled soup on my one clean shirt. As a bonus, my rent was overdue, my phone battery was dead, and the sky decided to open up the second I stepped outside.
By Jackiiabout a year ago in Fiction
The Slide of a Thousand Laughs
Deep in the Rainbow Jungle, where the trees shimmered like gems and the flowers glowed softly in the dark, five unlikely friends were having one of the most exciting days of their lives.
By Izazkhanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Room: A Haunting Tale of Hidden Emotions and Unspoken Truths
The Forgotten Room: A Haunting Tale of Hidden Emotions and Unspoken Truths By: Hamza Yaqoob Introduction What if you had a room inside your mind, one that held every memory you refused to face? What if you could walk through it—and uncover the secret you’ve been hiding from even yourself?
By Dr Hamza Yaqoob about a year ago in Fiction
Innocent Behind Bars. AI-Generated.
1. The Quiet Town There was once a small town called Riverdale. The town was peaceful. People knew each other. Children played in the streets. Neighbors helped neighbors. Everyone believed Riverdale was a safe place where nothing bad could ever happen.
By Bilal Mohammadiabout a year ago in Fiction
That Little Twerp
I've no reason to suspect the guy, really. I say, "guy", I mean anorak-touting dullard. The lengths he'd have had to go to, to get his hands on my suitcase. Even just to be in the baggage claim at the same time as me! No, it's bonkers. But... he's just so weird. The contents of the case don't feel real. They feel contrived. Like a prank. Someone trying too hard to be strange. The more I think about this, the more my brain itches, and the more his pale, gawky face floats around in it.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
The Rite of the First Meal. Top Story - June 2025.
The first time I cooked in a kitchen that was mine, I cried over a box of prepackaged rice. Not because it tasted good, it really didn’t, but because I could make it, eat it, and no one would take it from me. No footsteps thudding down the hall. No shouting. No disposal switch flipping like a guillotine. Just me, the steam rising from the pot, and a silence that finally felt soft instead of sharp. There was something about standing there, watching it simmer, the scent beginning to fill the air that made me remember the first time I tried to make it. I was eleven. I hadn’t eaten in days.
By M.R. Cameoabout a year ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker of Wintermere
Part I: The Frozen Morning The morning Elias Bell died, it snowed in reverse. Flakes that had already fallen lifted gently off the cobbled streets of Wintermere and floated back into the sky. Chimneys un-smoked, footfalls vanished, and for a brief moment, even time itself seemed to breathe in.
By Hikmatabout a year ago in Fiction
At The Edge Of Avalon
“… is that… you Sir…” “… Johston,” Felix the Thief lied with as much gusto as Sir Johston boasted to last night’s packed inn. He wasn’t proud of the impersonation, but if the knight was true this Lord’s quest came with a hefty sum of gold attached.
By Matthew J. Frommabout a year ago in Fiction
TUS NUA - ch 7
TUS NUA – ch 7 New Beginnings – Mia and Midnight (*)(*)(*) As Annora and her sister, CC were in their room and Annora explained what she knew, the other young women who sat circled around the dining room table, shared thoughts, ideas, fears, and their own experiences.
By Margaret Brennanabout a year ago in Fiction
Bunker Home
The day of his return yielded the same anxieties and discomforts in Penelope Farwell. Found hundreds of meters inside an asteroid, Penelope’s stomach tightened as she viewed the screen of her husband, Stayer Farwell. Her hands wrung in conspicuous fear. He, however, looked confident, relaxed and focused in his solo flight. No sweat beads gathered around his temples. He remained cool. Penelope, usually strong when thinking about the presence of her husband, had slight palpitations. The artificial lights blazed like drops of sunshine as they simulated solar rays. She could at least bask in the glow of the various light sources. She wore a pair of blue jeans and a red blouse and black tortoise rimmed glasses. Her long black hair had been put into a bun. Her skin looked like alabaster. He wore a black business suit. His skin was the color of charcoal.
By Skyler Saundersabout a year ago in Fiction
Anthropomorphism. Top Story - June 2025.
It’s distressing, you know? While thinking aloud, I stumbled upon an unexpected epiphany. Maybe the way I’d been taking care of you had been a roundabout way to care for myself. That certainly wasn’t the intent, but in the long term that’s how it turned out to be.
By Lark Hanshanabout a year ago in Fiction
Reflection of Society. AI-Generated.
Society is like a mirror. It shows who we are, how we live, and what we believe. Everything we do — from art and writing to music and films — reflects our feelings, dreams, and problems. People often say that art and stories show the soul of a community. When we look at books, poetry, songs, and even paintings, we can see pieces of life. These pieces tell us about people’s joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, traditions and changes.
By Bilal Mohammadiabout a year ago in Fiction