Short Story

Bug Problems
Where the fuck was all these dead bugs coming from? Every damn morning when I woke up, I would find them all over the bed and me. I’d clean them up and make my bed, then I would get ready to go to work for the day.
By Mother Combs2 years ago in Fiction
Secrets in the Blood. AI-Generated.
For three generations, the secret had been a heavy burden, passed down like a dark heirloom. Now, it was about to unravel, threatening to crush us ruining lifelong friendships.
By Abel Green2 years ago in Fiction
The Apple Man. Content Warning.
My name is John Chapman, but people were calling me Johnny Appleseed on account of all the apple tree seeds I’d been planting.
By Alex H Mittelman 2 years ago in Fiction
Gilded Apples; Chapter 7
-Chase's POV- Her brother continues smiling until she slips from the room. I don't miss the glare he shoots my way before rejoining the crowd.
By Katarzyna Crevan2 years ago in Fiction
All The Better to Eat You With
The werewolf had gripped Cerise like there was something in her that could save him. Save them both. But they were both running. Both burning. Grey felt the fire lick his back, and knew he had to let her go. He would take the trail of Eyes with him. Cerise Aisling had been hunted enough. The pink spider web-looking scars trickled down her collarbone, and the blood had nearly dried on her lips. She whispered something that sounded like his name.
By Essie2 years ago in Fiction
That Girl is Strange, No Question
Bellinda Abeille was strange, no question. She lived in the little French town of Conques. An invention had reached its very walls. Artificial intelligence. Everyone was enthralled. However, the Abeille’s were not. Bellinda detested the technology. It scared her. Maurice, her father, had always been a forward-thinking speaker. One day, nobody was listening anymore. Academics were destitute. The dependence on technology was dangerous and Maurice told them: ‘The rise of Artificial Intelligence brings the rise of Un-Intelligence. Un-Readers! Please children, don’t put down your books! Don’t close your mind!’ But they put them down. They closed their hearts, too. Monsieur Gaston, of Conques, had a boss who made mountains of money by taking people’s thoughts away. He shovelled out the AI robots. He gave them answers to their homework, so they didn’t have to do it themselves. He gave them self-driving cars, so they didn’t have to do it themselves. Gaston was proud. It was a new era, and his boss was filling his pockets. The AI centres were taking their fill too. The town started having water blockages. The water fountains got too hot to touch. Everyone’s new devices were self-cooling, so nobody was worried. The Abeille’s were. Alas, nobody was listening. The townspeople had stopped thinking independently. One day, Maurice told Bellinda he was going away. Bellinda followed him out of their doorway. ‘I have correspondences I can trust. I’ll be two days, honeybee.’
By Essie2 years ago in Fiction
Fifteen Years
I don't mind standing, nor turning right or facing left. What bothers me is I am doing it in a police line up as 'guest #3'.
By JBaz2 years ago in Fiction
Old Buildings, Old Books
I shouldn't be here. Everything in me was screaming to go back, so why do I keep going? There's a reason the Manor is desserted. Good reason why no one comes here. And yet, see here, another step, sending up another little cloud of dust around my feet. Reaching out cautiously, hoping to find a source of light, and something scuttles over my fingers. I pull back with a shriek, but it's muffled in the ancient air. It feels like l am breathing cobwebs. The door at the end of the corridor swings open with a slow creeeak. I have never wanted anything more than I want to turn around and run. Just run, as far and fast asl can, away from here. It's like there's a hook in my guts, and someone is pulling on its string... Every nerve in me is stretched tout, ready to snap. I don't want to step over the threshold and through the door. I don't want to walk down the rows and rows of shelves. That old vanilla smel is sickly sweet in my throat, choking me. As if I'd intended it all along, and yet without knowing I was going to do it, I reached up. The book seemed drawn to my touch, and fell open in my hands. I managed to read a little of it before the pages riffled forward. Enough to see it was writing my life. Not just the significant things, either Things I'd forgotten. Personal things. There were, written in front of me, secrets I'd never have shared not even with a soulmate, had I believed in such things. Shameful things, that I'd tried to forget so thoroughly it was like they never happened... ...feet rooted to the spot, I am helpless to resist the outpouring of my soul on to the pages, until there is nothing left...
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
The Lie’s Keeper. Content Warning.
I’ve always striven to be the golden armor of my father’s heart. I’ve been anything and everything he’s needed: a clever strategist in times of complexity, a strong arm during kingdom conflict, his jester through moments of apathy, and a confidant in his darkest hours. I refused to simply exist in the role of a prince, I was father’s lifeline. Over the years, I earned my father’s love and recognition, but his favor always seemed just out of my grasp.
By K. Elizabeth2 years ago in Fiction
Cy Eliott
Cindy was the most beautiful woman in town. If you asked Mike Eliott, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. The day that they were married was the most magical in all human history. Imagin riding off into the sunset on a carriage drawn by 7 white horses, honeymooning on a tropical island, and sleeping on a beach.
By David E. Perry2 years ago in Fiction
Odin's Runes. A Poetic Revelation
Odin's Runes: A Poetic Revelation In the bustling city of New Norsebury, where technology dominated life and creativity often felt stifled by the digital noise, a quaint bookstore café named "The Rune Quill" served as a hidden refuge for dreamers. It was a charming spot filled with the rich scent of coffee and the rustling sound of pages flipping—an oasis for aspiring poets seeking solace in shared stories.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 2 years ago in Fiction
Orphan of desire
The future is the orphanage, where the cherished desires which heart is giving birth to today will be abandoned and forgotten. Time has forced us to live three different selves, a past self, a present self, and a future self and none of these three selves share the same desires.
By VoiceOfAnOutlier2 years ago in Fiction