Young Adult

The Courting of Princess Astoria
“Are you paying attention, Prince Ben?” Ben blinks. He can feel Grayle sitting next to him, the goatley’s warm fur brushing against the bare skin of his arm.“I am, and very much so, Grayle,” he says politely, although admittedly he had let his mind wander for a moment.
By chloeabout a year ago in Fiction
The Man Who Sold Sunlight
For sixty-three years, the sun had been nothing more than a memory. The sky was a permanent bruise choked by ash, smog, and the scars of wars that had burned the atmosphere beyond repair. Crops shriveled before they could sprout. Rivers turned to glass. Cities disappeared beneath layers of ice and silence.
By Muzamil khanabout a year ago in Fiction
Residency
“A residency?” “Yes mama,” I sighed. “What does that mean?” she asked. “I live there with twelve other artists,” I said.
By Raine Fielderabout a year ago in Fiction
My Imaginary Friend Turned Real Overnight
When I was seven, I had an imaginary friend named Eli. He had messy hair, a crooked smile, and an endless supply of encouragement.
By Habib kingabout a year ago in Fiction
*The Clockmaker's Promise*
In a quiet town nestled between rolling hills and a slow-moving river, there stood a small shop with a crooked sign that read “Timeless Hands.” Inside, the air was warm and still, filled with the soft, steady rhythm of ticking clocks. Wall clocks, pocket watches, mantel clocks—they all chimed and clicked in quiet harmony, each keeping time in its own way.
By meerjananabout a year ago in Fiction
Operation Lassi Spill
It was one of those golden Punjabi afternoons—the kind where the sun hangs warm in the sky, the air smells of cardamom and fresh roti, and every lane in the village hums with celebration. A wedding was in full swing, the biggest the village had seen in years. Banners fluttered above the courtyard, children darted between guests with sticky fingers, and uncles danced with the kind of energy that defied their age.
By meerjananabout a year ago in Fiction
Shadows That Remember
In a small, quiet village tucked between ancient, rolling hills, there lived a ten-year-old girl named Nina. She had a head full of wild curls that never stayed still and eyes that sparkled like the morning dew. Her home was a place unlike any other, not because of its cobblestone streets or its wooden cottages, but because of its shadows.
By Muzamil khanabout a year ago in Fiction
Running Show Wines
With the maiden claiming, ‘defending turf’ the elusive Dr. Wong continued planning an adolescent spirited drinking show, despite the award-winning editor's choice words describing the effort. "It's wine gold,” the elusive Dr. Wong stated, “the quality will put you in a certain place.”
By Marc OBrienabout a year ago in Fiction
*The Forgotten Bench*
In a small town cradled by rolling hills and thick forest, there was a wooden bench by the lake. It wasn’t grand—its green paint had peeled, one leg was uneven, and the wood bore the soft scars of time. But if you sat there long enough, you might feel something linger in the air—quiet, familiar, like the echo of a laugh carried by the wind.
By meerjananabout a year ago in Fiction
My Friend’s Last Words Came in a Dream
It’s been a year since Lily passed away, but sometimes it still feels like she might text me, or I’ll turn a corner and see her laughing in that way only she could. Grief is strange like that—it never really goes away, it just changes shape.
By ETS_Storyabout a year ago in Fiction
When Will You Give Rest to Your Father?" – A Tale of Love, Duty, and Redemption
In the small village of Eldenbrook, nestled between rolling hills and whispering forests, lived a hardworking farmer named Thomas. His father, old Henry, had once been the strongest man in the village—a man who could lift sacks of grain with ease and work the fields from dawn till dusk. But time had taken its toll. Now, Henry was frail, his hands trembling, his steps slow.
By Danyal Hashmiabout a year ago in Fiction
Residency
I knew the art residency I had signed up for was going to be in a castle, but the pictures and description couldn’t have prepared me for the reality of it. We drove over a drawbridge; I couldn’t believe the place had a moat. Then we went through the tunnel in the stone wall around the base of the hill, then pulled up the winding drive. Once at the top we drove around the side of the castle and down a slope into an underground garage. The driver parked in one of the slots in a row occupied by matching unremarkable black cars. He got out and opened my door for me and helped me out. I was glad I had worn my gauzy dress; it was comfortable but also felt medieval and ethereal. It was an off-white color spaghetti strap with barely visible flowers all over it. It fell to my calves and was cinched around my waist loosely. I left my auburn hair down and my curls felt heavy on my bare shoulders.
By Raine Fielderabout a year ago in Fiction