Short Story

I Mourned Her
She was gone and yet I yearned for her to come back to me. Nothing that I could do or say could ever bring her back, life doesn’t work that way, it never has and never will.
By Elizabeth Butlerabout a year ago in Fiction
The View from Up Here
Looking out over the horizon, I yet again wonder what I'm doing here. I don't mean here on Earth in that metaphysical, dark way. I just mean here, at this cliff, watching this beautiful sunset. The colors are blossoming in vibrant hues of purples, pinks, oranges, and yellows. I could almost convince myself it was a painting in a museum. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and I don't know how I was lucky enough to stop and see it unfold before me.
By Kristen Barenthalerabout a year ago in Fiction
I Stayed, Even After He Left Me Without Leaving
It didn’t happen overnight. That would’ve made more sense. He didn’t storm out. He didn’t cheat. He simply… stopped showing up.
By Natik Ahsanabout a year ago in Fiction
Grey Games
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” I asked him softly, the words brushing my red lips. I knew the answer, but I needed him to voice it for me.
By Bérengère Balteauabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Lantern
*** Inspired by a foggy walk I took near an abandoned rail bridge last autumn. *** The town of Bellridge never shows up on any map. It did once — nestled deep within the Oregon mountains, famous for its coal railways and lantern-making foundry. That was before the fire.
By Muhammad Abdullahabout a year ago in Fiction
Timeless Love
The world froze at 2:04 PM. Cars halted mid-intersection. Birds hovered like ornaments in the sky. Conversations turned to statues, caught in half-spoken syllables. Ezra Kane, a quiet bookstore clerk, was the only one who moved through the stillness.
By Salah Uddinabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Seatbelt
We all have those moments in life that divide everything into two parts: before and after. For me, it was a ten-minute drive.
By Faizanabout a year ago in Fiction
When He Opened His Eyes. Content Warning.
>>>***Inspired by something I saw in the eyes of a stranger once.*** We were laughing. That’s what I remember first. Not the screech of tires or the shatter of glass—just the sound of Jackson’s laugh echoing through the cab of his beat-up blue Tacoma, windows down, late summer air breezing in.
By Muhammad Abdullahabout a year ago in Fiction
The Devils Church
“We are all going to die,” Ty Williamson whispered, his voice cool and even-toned. “Some of us just have a better go at things than others.”
By K.H. Obergfollabout a year ago in Fiction
The Apartment that Rents You
The Apartment that Rents You Written by: Salah Uddin They told you not to get attached. That buildings didn’t love, that walls don’t whisper, and doors don’t remember. But Tower 97 wasn’t like other places. In the City of Drought and Dust, where every breath cost credits and apartments outlived politicians, housing didn’t just house—it chose.
By Salah Uddinabout a year ago in Fiction
Things Left Unsaid
It’s raining outside the cafe, so there aren’t many people in the building. She prefers it this way because the silence is peaceful, and it gives her time to think. She looks around and smells the familiar scent of her half-drunk coffee that she brought from home. She didn’t intend to stop at the cafe today, but after receiving a phone call from her, she knew if they were going to have this conversation anywhere, it would have to be here. So, she sits at the same table she’s sat at since she was a child in the same cushioned chair, next to the same big window she’s looked out of while going through some of the best and worst times in her life. She puts her insulated cup down on the table and decides to order a pastry to buy herself some time before she has to think about all of the things she's avoided thinking about for years. She closes her eyes while waiting for her order and reminds herself that all she has to do is breathe. She takes a deep breath and, with the darkness all around her, she can almost convince herself that she’s 15 again, sitting across from someone she once believed was the only other person in the world that mattered in that little corner of their cafe. She listens to the lo-fi music playing in the background. The coffee machine spat out all different kinds of coffee. The low hum of peaceful conversation; the clicking of keyboards and inhales once more. Her name is called, and she returns to her seat with pastry in hand, her distraction officially over. Her phone buzzes, and she knows it’s her. She’s almost here. Her next breath gets caught in her throat as she forces an exhale. The sound of the bell dinging was always a comfort to her. It was more familiar than her own front door opening. She thinks about the slight absurdity in this. The fact that she knows the workers and their families as if they were her own. That she knows how it feels to be embraced by them, more than the feeling of being embraced by her own parents. That sound had never made her nervous until today. Her stomach flips as she hears her footsteps approach, and she takes a second too long to turn around, trying to savor the moment before her past and present collide into one moment. She looks up at her from her chair, which suddenly feels hard under the weight of her. The moment she meets her eyes, she can feel the last decade crumble beneath her like ash. She feels as though she is struck with an unimaginable force. Her chest gets tighter as it reacts to the crushing weight of things left unsaid. She looks good—better than good. She looks even more beautiful than she did when they were kids, like she had grown into the version of herself she always knew she could be.
By sashaabout a year ago in Fiction
Stuck With Mr. Billionaire
“You seriously expect me to sleep in a cabin with him?” Harper’s voice echoed off the pine walls of the snowbound lodge. Her suitcase hit the floor with a thud, narrowly missing the foot of the man leaning against the fireplace, smug grin firmly in place.
By USAMA KHANabout a year ago in Fiction