Short Story
Justice was served . Honorable Mention in You Had to Be There. Content Warning.
This article is a fictionalized version of real incidents that happened to various females when I was a teenager. In no way am I downplaying and normalizing sexual assault. I am sharing a story about the mindset of some teens in the 1970s. And how things have changed today. Please take no offense. If you can relate to this story please leave a comment.
By Cheryl E Preston4 months ago in Fiction
You Don't Belong Here
People do not like different. I have learned this very well over the years. The idea of normalcy is what the general public idealizes. They want things to seem ideal, "normal", no muss and no fuss. Especially if you live in the South, you're raised to believe that your whole job is to grow up, get good grades, go to church, raise a family, get a good job, and then essentially die, but we're never made to question what if there's more? What if I want to do more? Even as a young child, I knew I was different. My mother expected me to get straight A's, but I got B's and C's. I was expected to be a good little church girl and never question my parents. For the longest time, I didn't, but then in high school, things began to change. I met those who would become my sisters. I've been through hell and high water with these women. We've gone from girls to women together, we've laughed, we've cried, and when our parents failed us, we made a bond so strong that no one could break it. We promised each other we would take care of each other until death. Together, we formed a sisterhood. In high school, we joined a club together called T.A.D. (Teens Against Drugs). We were made fun of quite heavily, but it was a subject we were all passionate about, so one day we performed a demonstration. We dressed in black as if going to a funeral because in our minds, we were. My sister Alisha dressed as the Grim Reaper. I can still feel the rain pouring down on us as we made our way to the middle of our school's walkway. There was a large statue there that was called "Aspiration Point," and we had made several mock graves and placed them around the statue prior to the demonstration to show the loss that drugs can cause. We placed ourselves around the "Aspiration Point" just before the first bell and knelt in respect of those lost to drugs and alcohol. We knew we would be yelled at, mocked, but we had resolved ourselves to not move, and move we did not. The crowds started to gather, the other teenagers jeered and mocked, and then proceeded to throw things at us. Whatever they could find, things from the trash, things from their backpacks, things on the ground etc. I got hit by cans, notebooks, actual textbooks, pens, pencils, etc. I opened my eyes once to glance at my sisters, and they were still kneeling, eyes closed, so I closed mine too. Mostly, the only way I knew what was hitting me was by the way it felt on my body when it hit. I didn't open my eyes or move. I prayed...silently and fervently to whoever may be listening, be it God or my spirit guides or all of the above. I prayed they would be forgiven, and I prayed they would never have to lose a loved one due to drugs or alcohol. I prayed one day they would understand why we did this. Finally, after what felt like forever but was only 5 minutes, security guards came and broke up the crowd and made them go to class. After the bell, we rose slowly, deliberately, gathered our things, and went to class. I don't recall if we spoke much or if I cried, but I remember the walk to class that day being very somber and quiet. We were soaked, hurting in more ways than one, and had a headful of thoughts. I didn't tell my mother about that day, I didn't tell my stepfather or my daddy. This I kept between my sisters and me. Over the years, my sisters and I have been through so much together. Trauma, heartbreak, death, loss, grief, happiness, birthing our children, laughter, trips, memories, etc., and through it all, we come back to each other. We are all witches, and that is another subject that gets a bad rap. When most people think of witches, they think of old ladies with long, ugly, bumpy noses and pointy hats. They think of devil worship, you must be crazy and evil. If anyone would take even just a few minutes to do some research, they would know that's not at all what it means to be a witch. We love nature and respect her as the Great Spirit's creation. We use crystals and herbs as spells of good wishes and to send certain intentions into the Universe. You will not meet many a witch who uses these things for evil intentions. I consider myself to be a mix of Christian, Native American beliefs, Pagan, and Wiccan. Each of my sisters might say something different, though, but we each have somewhere along the same belief system. My point is that we are all different, none of us is the same, and if we could only come to realize that, maybe different wouldn't seem so scary, and the general public wouldn't feel such a need to make everything into a system. We are human beings! We were made to be different and unique, not machines that all do the same thing and think the same. Everyone needs to wake up! Why are we so hard on each other for just being human? Why do we victim-blame? Why do we expect our children to all get perfect grades, learn the same way, and grow up just to work and die? To me, this is the most disgusting thing we can do as humans. The ugly truth is that none of us belongs here. None of us deserves to live on such a beautiful planet, but here we are, so let's be kind to each other, love, and remember we are all different.
By Lindsey Altom4 months ago in Fiction
Anatomy of Our End. Content Warning.
“We should end this. Us.” Nervous was not the word. A pacing, panicked wreck of my former self was more accurate. Scuff marks mapped my path along the corridor. The police spoke to the receptionist—grave glances, clipped radio replies—then footsteps more purposeful than my own. They spoke. I didn’t listen. I didn’t need to. The rest was a blur. "It's in your best interest to cooperate, Mr. Kilner." "You have the right to remain silent." Not only had I destroyed us—I’d destroyed her chances of ever walking out on me. "It was an accident," I whispered, drowning in the lie. * Thanks for reading! This was my entry into 100-word Microfiction Challenge 2026 1st Round. My Assigned Genre - Drama, Assigned Action - recommending and Assigned Word - wreck. I didn't get further but did receive some positive and constructive feedback.
By Paul Stewart4 months ago in Fiction
I'll Never Be The Same Again
Someone shoots, they score. The bar goes wild. Tammy side-eyes me and puts an arm around my shoulder. “Maybe we should go,” she whispers amidst the hoots. I’m not even sure what sport we’re supposed to be watching. The game is colours and blurs and chaos and nachos sit heavy in my gut. I nod.
By Lark Hanshan4 months ago in Fiction
The Story of Dot
Dot was champion nose-picking for three consecutive years, and she was proud of it. The four trophies, two times gold, one silver, and one honorable mention, shiny lay in plush in her bedroom cupboard, never to be touched because that would mean bad luck according to her friend, the green city parrot, a stuffed animal of gigantic proportion.
By Petra Van Geenen4 months ago in Fiction
The Box That Bleeds
I didn’t think much of it when they loaded the package. Heavy, sure—but we get those all the time. Industrial parts, machinery, weird custom orders. The label said PRIORITY – DO NOT DELAY, stamped three times in red like someone wanted to make absolutely sure it got noticed.
By V-Ink Stories4 months ago in Fiction
