Short Story

The Funeral
This is a terrible day for a funeral. The weather is perfect, cool light breeze, nice cloud cover and temperatures in the low 70s. I mean could it get any worse? It’s a perfect day to go fishing, hiking, or just sitting on the back porch drinking a beer. Yea this is a terrible day for a funeral, well a terrible day for MY funeral.
By Kenneth Boutteabout a year ago in Fiction
The Billionaire’s Secrets
Everyone knew who Aiden Locke was. Billionaire tech genius. Founder of Etheron Corp. Tabloid favorite. Mysteriously privacy
By Izazkhanabout a year ago in Fiction
The True and the Daring. Content Warning.
“I would have to say…” Chad mused. “In the anthropology section of the Baillieu Library.” A collective groan came from the entire group.
By Danh Chantachakabout a year ago in Fiction
That Guy Who Tied Balloons To A Lawn Chair (Wheeeeeeee!)
The chair creaked. Helium hissed. Maybe that was his sanity, leaking away... Larry gripped the armrests, knuckles proud, heart thudding.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
The Whistling in the Walls
My dearest Linette, You’ve always teased me for my curiosity. "Wren," you’d say, "you’ll drown in questions one day." But it wasn’t water that nearly took me—it was the silence. The silence of the man downstairs.
By Paper Lanternabout a year ago in Fiction
grandad
He was there , once upon a time, along time ago. He was in my life briefly but he's influence remains many years after he passed and left me. In fact this is the 50th without him being there. Strangely , I am told again of the things we did together, the places we went and the tobacco tin of sweets. the strange bit is I remember the sweets, remember the time but struggle with his face.
By ASHLEY SMITHabout a year ago in Fiction
TUS NUA - ch 5. Top Story - June 2025.
TUS NUA – ch 5 New Beginnings – Mia and Midnight (*)(*)(*) The young women were enthralled with their little kittens but keen-eyed Annora, while still petting her kitten, broke the silence. “Mia, I think we’re all kind of getting used to seeing and hearing things we’ve never seen or heard before. But, let’s face it, I, like many if not all of us here grew up with all the fairy tales of witches being-bent-over, green-skinned, gray-haired hags with warts on their noses. So, seeing you and your family has totally bewildered us. While we’re taking all this in and trying to get used to it all, can you explain what happened to the Moretti family and how you can be so sure they’ll never look for us?”
By Margaret Brennanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Good Samaritan
Rain pelted the windshield as Georgia sped down the pitch black road. Between the glare of headlights from oncoming traffic and the water sheeting over the glass, visibility was nil. Her right hand gripped the wheel so tight, her knuckles ached. Still, she didn't dare let go, holding onto the worn leather like a lifeline. Her left stayed on her tight, perfectly round belly, massaging constant circles into the side of it. When a fresh wave of pain swelled through it, she bit her lip and groaned deeply through it.
By Natalie Grayabout a year ago in Fiction
A Change of Heart. Top Story - June 2025.
The old man sat motionless behind the wheel. He was clenching it tight. The engine was running. Sweat began to bead on his forehead and a tear ran down his cheek.
By Scott A. Geseabout a year ago in Fiction
I remember being a star
I remember the silence of space. Not the kind you think of, filled with darkness and void, but the kind that pulses with purpose. With gravity. With ancient rhythms and nuclear fire. I remember being a star. --- For eons, I watched. I hung suspended in the velvet dark, tethered by gravity and duty. I was one of billions,maybe trillions, glowing in the night sky above your Earth. You never knew me by name. Perhaps you called me Antares, or maybe nothing at all. Still, I watched you. Your oceans shimmered like starlight. Your winds whispered in patterns that made my plasma ache. And then, one night, I saw her. She stood in a meadow, arms outstretched to the sky, laughing beneath my glow like I was something more than heat. I wanted to understand that laugh. I wanted to be where she was. --- So I prayed. Not to matters or time, but to the Architect of motion, the Composer of stars. The god that created us all. “I am willing,” I whispered into the vacuum, “to die a thousand deaths if it means knowing what it is to feel.” And the Architect, in all His mercy, replied: > “Then fall.” --- I remember falling. It wasn’t fire. It wasn’t burning. It was unfolding .Like shedding eternity and squeezing into something impossibly small—a body. Bones. Breath. Blood. A name: Lucien. And suddenly, I was there. Earth. --- I was confused at first. Light had weight. Air stung my lungs. Time wasn’t fluid—it dragged. Hunger gnawed at me. Emotions—strange chemicals—I had no language for them. And yet… The first time I touched water, I wept. The first time I tasted bread, I laughed. The first time I held her hand, I forgot the stars. --- Her name was Eila. She was everything Earth distilled into one being: soft and strong, wild and kind. She taught me how to eat strawberries and lie on grass and chase clouds. She told me stories about god and ghosts, and I told her stories about fusion and nebulae. She called me “old soul.” I called her “my miracle.” She never knew I was once a star. She just thought I was strange and in love with everything. She wasn’t wrong. --- I never told her about the deal. That to become human was to die human. No resurrections. No solar rebirths. No nova, no echo. Just… Silence. I gave up eternity for a heartbeat of life. And I was happy. --- Years passed. I lived slowly. I wrote poems about raindrops. I painted sunrises. I married her. We danced barefoot on riversides and sang lullabies to children we never had. Every night, I looked up at the stars and whispered, “thank you.” Even when the cough started. Even when my legs failed. Even when the doctors used words like "terminal." --- On the last day, she carried me to the field where we first kissed. The grass was taller now, greener. The wind smelled of rain and lilacs. “I love you,” she whispered, lying beside me, her fingers intertwined with mine. And I—barely breath and bone—smiled. “Did you know,” I whispered, voice thin, “that before I was a man… I was light?” She laughed through her tears. “Of course you were.” “I loved you then, too,” I said. “Even before I knew what love was.” And then… I closed my eyes. --- Somewhere far away, a star went dark. But no one wept. Because on Earth, in the memory of one woman, and in the whisper of every leaf, and in the warmth of sunlight, he remained. --- Eila planted a tree where he died. She named it Lucien. She said it still glowed sometimes, when the wind was right and the sky was clear. And people came from all over to sit beneath its branches. To feel something they couldn't name. --- And if you listen closely, when the night is still and the stars blink gently above, you might hear him whisper: > “I remember being a star. > But oh—how I loved being human more.” --- End. ---
By E. hasanabout a year ago in Fiction
Starlight Debt
The signal arrived on a Tuesday. Juno was feeding her daughter breakfast when the message blinked into existence—just a soft tone on her tablet, like an email. Harmless. Innocuous. It only read: “The debt has come due. Prepare for retrieval.” —Orion Covenant Office, Station Eos Her blood went cold.
By E. hasanabout a year ago in Fiction
TUS NUA - ch 4
TUS NUA – ch 4 New Beginnings – Mia and Midnight (*)(*)(*) Evangeline gently placed her hand on Alistar’s arm not just to calm him but also offer comfort. Looking at his wife, she saw his emotions of rage and sadness battle each other. He sat and grasped her hand.
By Margaret Brennanabout a year ago in Fiction