Short Story

Instructions for the Court
Note - here is a link to the Challenge: Notes for proper behaviour in the courtroom: 1. No smiles. Why did he have to give me such a ridiculous list? And why start with the obvious? I know that the 'court of public opinion' - such a ludicrous phrase - has already decided that I am guilty. I could not keep up the charade of tears and weeping all day long now, could I? When I saw him bloviating and gesturing, it just came out. At least I look good (such a fine artist).
By Kendall Defoe about a year ago in Fiction
Wound
Mothers are tricksy things. I suppose daughters are, too, in our own way. Many of us become mothers in turn, don't we? I don't hate my mother. I don't even dislike her. I love her, in exactly the way she deserves. The same, vague and detached way she loved me. Dutiful. That, I lay at her door. After all, she was the one who taught me how to love her, so if I'm doing it wrong, she only has herself to blame. We reap what we sow.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
Whispers in the Cornfield: The Girl Who Vanished Without a Trace . Content Warning.
The small town of Elmridge and its eerie calm Elmridge, nestled in the heart of the Midwest, is the kind of town that often slips past your notice. Picture dusty streets, neatly lined porches, and cornfields that stretch beyond the horizon like an ocean of green. It’s the kind of place where everyone knows each other, and secrets don’t stay buried for long—or so people thought. But one summer day shattered that illusion forever. It was in this sleepy community that Lily Carter vanished without a trace, leaving behind nothing but haunting whispers in the cornfield and a town forever altered.
By olxia10 about a year ago in Fiction
She Opened the Wrong Door and Discovered a Different World
She Opened the Wrong Door and Discovered a Different World It began with a simple mistake. Maya had never been the type to wander. She liked her routines. She liked knowing where she was going, and even more, she liked being right. But on that quiet October afternoon, while visiting her great-aunt’s towering estate for the first time, something pulled her down the wrong hallway.
By Hamidabout a year ago in Fiction
Sylwen Thornshade - The Verdant Warden
Sylwen Thornshade - The Verdant Warden The wind carried whispers through the towering oaks of Forend’s Forest, weaving between emerald leaves and tangled vines. Here, amidst the deep roots and ancient thickets, Sylwen Thornshade walked in silent communion with the land. She was one of Silvanna’s chosen, a vessel, a voice, a guardian of Nature. Every breath Sylwen took was an oath to the goddess, a vow to maintain the balance between life and destruction.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
The Reader’s Haven
In the town of Frostvale, nestled in a valley where winter lingered like a guest who wouldn’t leave, books were a fading memory. Once, Frostvale had been a place of stories, its library a beacon for poets and scholars. But the mill closed, the trains stopped, and the library burned down in a freak fire when Esha was a child. Now, the townsfolk clung to routine—work, eat, sleep— their lives as gray as the snow that piled against their doors. Books were relics, stashed in attics or traded for firewood, their pages forgotten.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Bookbinder’s Promise
In the city of Kalimpur, stories were currency, but only if you could afford them. The streets thrummed with vendors hawking spices, silks, and secrets, while skyscrapers loomed like giants, their glass faces reflecting a world that moved too fast to read. Books were rare here, hoarded by the wealthy in locked libraries or sold in fragments at black markets. For most, stories were whispers, half-remembered tales told over tea stalls, fading like smoke.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Daughter
In the village of Haverwick, time was not a suggestion—it was a law. Clocks ruled every corner, their faces staring from shopfronts, church towers, and parlor walls. The village square held a great iron clock, its hands black as wrought iron, ticking so loudly it drowned out the birds. Haverwick’s people lived by its rhythm, their days carved into precise segments: work at seven, supper at six, sleep at ten. To be late was to be suspect, and to be timeless was to be invisible.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Lantern Keeper
The town of Greyhaven clung to the edge of the world, where the land dropped into the sea like a broken promise. Its cliffs were sharp, its winds sharper, and its people the sharpest of all—worn down by salt and time into something unyielding. They didn’t talk much, the folk of Greyhaven, but when they did, it was about the lanterns.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Phone Box And The Storm
The Phone Box And The Storm I was small. Really small. The kind of small where your whole world can fit into your mam’s coat pocket, and every noise feels ten times louder than it should. Especially the sound of a Thunder Storm,that is every child’s fear when it picks upon the look it’s mothers worried face.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Fiction
Echo Canyon
THE SUN WAS HIGH when they dropped into the third canyon that morning, hooves clattering loose shale, the sound echoing off rust-colored walls that offered no shade, no relief, and no end. The wind didn’t move down here. It hovered. Heat sat like a drunk on their shoulders, pressing down slow and mean.
By Jason B. Bakerabout a year ago in Fiction
Silverfire. AI-Generated.
The snow fell softly that night — not in flurries, but like a hush laid gently over the earth. A quiet so complete, I could hear the faintest creak of old branches, the brittle crunch of frost beneath my boots. I’d learned to listen to the absence of sound lately. Not just notice it — really listen to it. Silence, I’d found, isn’t empty. It speaks. You just have to get quiet enough to hear it.
By Jeremie Nelson about a year ago in Fiction