Short Story
Your first 24 hours on my rock by the sea . Top Story - October 2026.
Hey you! Yes, YOU! This rock you see in the photo before you? It belongs to ME! My family and I discovered it while exploring an untamed, island wilderness east of New York City. The Atlantic island we traversed was largely unpeopled (or at least unsettled by Spinellis).
By Sam Spinelli23 days ago in Fiction
Claustrophobia
You awaken with no memory of the events prior. You shimmy on your back, dragging yourself backward through this little tunnel. Your claustrophobia sets in as you feel your chest contract. You produce little, stifled breaths, trying not to hyperventilate as you proceed shakily toward a dim light, one shoulder blade at a time. You perceive it to be a few yards away. You think of nothing else but getting to that light, emerging from this dark and suffocating crawlspace, however you ended up in it. As you inch backward, the walls form a bottleneck, and you are forced to pull your elbows in tightly to your chest. The passage constricts further, until your shoulders are abated on either side. You feel yourself beginning to lose control, indeed, to hyperventilate, as the pace of your breathing escalates. You feel a panic building as it begins to overtake you. In the distance, your fingers find the edge of the tunnel. You rip yourself free.
By Noah Husband23 days ago in Fiction
Do You Part
You're only halfway done, but you know good and well that you look fabulous. Traditionally, a woman in this situation would have her trusted coven of sisters join her in the preparations, but you have no one. Not a single person would consent to this after learning about the anticipated result. If you had kept all crucial information confidential, you might have had at least one sister by your side. Alas, you must curl your own hair and polish your own silver.
By Cat the Autist23 days ago in Fiction
Walled Her
You carefully position the fog machine on the floor, and angle it toward the jewelry cases. Behind you, the vacant dark of night is all that the windows admit. The only light comes from a small headlamp that you wear for these sorts of missions. You take a few more minutes to adjust the headlamp and reposition the fog machine. You need to avoid setting off the alarms. On your last mission, you narrowly escaped being arrested by the police. You were only able to slip away because the cop was a horny young jock, and you were half naked. That's probably the last time that officer will believe a suspicious woman when she pleads for a chance to go into the next room and change. Your phone rings, and the name 'Aidan Lawrence' appears on the screen. You answer it. "Hi God," you answer sweetly. "How long until the package is ready?" says a voice from the phone. "About ten minutes," you reply. "This has taken too long again. No tv privileges this month." "But I love tv! Please?" "Don't argue with me. Pick up the package and leave the post office." "Okay." He hangs up and you return to your task. You turn on the fog machine, and a steady stream of white vapor rushes into the room. As your headlamp shines on the plumes of white vapor, thin green lines of light become visible. They form a sort of web around the glass cases of jewelry, but you quickly find a hole big enough to reach your arm into. You lean carefully over the glass case, reach your arm through the gap, and angle it toward a diamond necklace. You notice that your breasts, full and pendulous, are swinging very close to one of the little green lines. "Ugh...why won't God let me wear a bigger bra?" you think aloud. "Years practicing on alarm systems, and I'm gonna set this thing off with my boob." You continue to move your hand through the gaps toward the neclace, and your breasts swing precariously over a green line. "Oops." The alarm begins to blare. You can't hear yourself think. You quickly pull away fron the glass cases, and rush toward the door you came in. As you exit the building and grab your locksmith gear, police sirens become audible. You begin to run away from the store, away from the sirens. You're running so fast that you stop looking around you, then WAM! You feel a sudden impact, as if a car just hit you. You crumple to the ground, and slowly fade from consciousness. *** You hear voices. It sounds like they're talking about you. You try to get up but your limbs and eyelids are so heavy. "God, is that you?" you ask. Your mouth feels warm and wet. Harsh male laughter erupts from the figures talking near you. "That one's gonna need medical attention," says a deep voice. "Yeah, dude walled her."
By A. S. Lawrence23 days ago in Fiction
The Wrong Door
You've attended three funerals. None of them made you cry. You justify it: you didn't know the person well enough. You were there for your friend. Someone else needed the tissue box. But when the third coffin slides behind those black curtains and you still don't shed a tear, you start to wonder if you're incapable of feeling the appropriate emotion at the appropriate time.
By Edward Smith23 days ago in Fiction
Ach! October
You chug the last of your eye-opening campfire-style coffee. Water and a handful of grounds boiled muddy brown in an old-fashioned kettle. Coughing, you spit out a couple of grains that slipped past the cheesecloth strainer. None too carefully, you set the yellowed, chipped Dresden cup on the matching saucer. Matching, except it’s slightly less yellowed with age. The clink of the two pieces making contact doesn’t faze you. Once your mother’s pride and joy, hell, maybe even her mother’s before hers, it’s simply another vessel to you. An old one at that. Everything and everyone wore a few battle scars with age. You certainly have your share.
By Liz Montano23 days ago in Fiction
