Short Story

The Last Message
She found the old phone buried beneath the loose floorboard in the attic. The house smelled of dust and forgotten memories, the light from her flashlight trembling across faded wallpaper. The phone was cracked and worn, the kind that felt heavy in her hand — a relic from another time.
By Get Richabout a year ago in Fiction
The Little Red Umbrella That Changed Everything
It was a gray morning in the middle of October. The rain had started falling early, and the streets of the city were wet and shiny. People hurried along the sidewalks, umbrellas in hand, heads down, trying to stay dry.
By Muhammad Farhad Khanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Bus to Anywhere
The gas station smelled like gasoline, cold coffee, and memories. Ella didn’t mind. It was the kind of nowhere place that didn’t ask questions—a blessing when you’re trying to disappear.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Stranger at Maple Street
It was just past sunset when I first noticed her standing by the old lamppost on Maple Street. The kind of street that most people avoid after dark—cracked pavement, empty storefronts with dusty windows, and the faint smell of damp leaves. The lamppost flickered erratically, casting long, wavering shadows that danced in the evening breeze.
By Get Richabout a year ago in Fiction
A character’s first memory.
The morning sun spilled through the cracked blinds, casting stripes of gold across the worn wooden floor. Jonah’s eyes fluttered open, confused at first, then wide with wonder. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon and old paper, a smell he would come to recognize as the scent of home.
By Get Richabout a year ago in Fiction
The Girls the River Remembers
The Girls the River Remembers:- The train screeched to a halt just before the Sutlej bridge. Smoke billowed from the engine, curling into a sky already heavy with ash. Inside the cramped carriage, silence clung to everything. Not peace—just the kind of silence that follows screams.
By Zakir Ullahabout a year ago in Fiction
AMERICAN ECONOMICS
"Dollar Diary: In the Shadow of America's Inflation in 2025" Setting: A Restless Morning One morning in May 2025, Jacob Anderson, a 32-year-old living in Brooklyn, New York, walked into his favorite coffee shop. When he reached the counter, he noticed that his usual $5 coffee was now selling for $7. The price increase didn't surprise him, because he knew how inflation affected his daily life. But in reality, its impact on his life was deepening every day.
By sagorbariabout a year ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Blue Rose Creek
Start writing...In the heart of the lush green valley known as Viridia, where the air was thick with the scent of wildflowers and the rustling of leaves whispered forgotten tales, there existed a legend that few dared to believe. It was said that deep within the forest, where the sunlight kissed the dew-draped grass and the wind sang lullabies to ancient trees, blue roses bloomed—guardians of a forgotten magic.
By Mukhtiar Ahmadabout a year ago in Fiction
Dancing Through Time
“Giselle!” As the bustling of rehearsal was underway, Giselle barely caught the call of her name and a wave from her friend, Audrey. The dark haired woman glided through the people with ease that any successful dancer would have. “Giselle, I just heard you were offered the spot for Odette and you passed it up.” Her arms crossed over her chest, hip popped as she glowered at her friend.
By Analesia Giammussoabout a year ago in Fiction
Dark Balance. Top Story - May 2025.
I was tired. I didn’t know I was faint till the crown slid from my head, clanging as it rolled away in a rattle and clatter of noise.
By Meredith Harmonabout a year ago in Fiction
Framed in Time Part 1. AI-Generated.
Eli Navarro adjusted the silver cuff on his wrist. It was supposed to be a tool—a gateway to truth—but now it felt like a shackle.
By Travis Johnsonabout a year ago in Fiction
Chimney Soot. Top Story - May 2025.
Author's Note: This story was inspired by the poem 'Suburban Sonnet' by Gwen Harwood. Enjoy! ~ Ms Annabelle Morrison enters the hall, holding an envelope and a page of handwritten notes. It is her sister, Margaret’s funeral. This is Belle’s speech.
By Ruby Redabout a year ago in Fiction