Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
The Flower
I was walking around the burbs with my friend, through somewhat familiar streets. We were laughing and talking and generally just wandering. Where we were going I am not sure. It didn't really matter.
jacki fleetPublished 2 years ago in FictionAppetite for Words
I love shelving books. It’s meditative to float through the alphabet and institute a preciseness that each title deserves. There is a symmetry to it and an art to the spine-out, face-out flow. I smell each one and feel its texture. When the moment is right, I dive into the words to satisfy the craving. Everyone has their indulgences, addictions, but it has taken me time to embrace my unique abilities. Sometimes they scratch my skin, squeeze my windpipe, or even burn layers of skin. For too long I wondered what was real, the world inside their pages or the one where I actually breathe. The routine of keeping the books contained on their shelves keeps me grounded in this reality, even when I crave to be inside them.
Susan CardosiPublished 2 years ago in FictionThe Bizarre Case of Lana Lee
My routinely stroll into my office is interrupted by the striking sound of a metal meal tray hitting the floor. My poor Benjamin has refused his breakfast yet again. I couldn’t ignore it this time. Crippling depression and anger management issues have taken him by storm. He’s been stuck at the MHOB—Mental Health Organization of Boston— for three weeks over his appalling suicide attempt.
Red Ink
When I was six years old, my grandfather told me that if a name is written in red ink, death or misfortune will soon follow that person. The color of blood was reserved for names on gravestones or obituaries. Never for those still alive, he said.
Samantha PyoPublished 2 years ago in Fiction"Tick Tock"
Tick, his face filled with marks, I stare at his wide-open mouth wondering when that saliva would finally fall. As I continued staring, a disgusted expression suddenly drew itself on my face upon the sight of him inhaling his drooling saliva back into his throat.
Sterson StephaPublished 2 years ago in FictionThe farewell trip before our divorce
I want this trip to be never-ending. I look at the scenery in front of me, and fear the moment we’ll reach our driveway, park our Devil’s Red Citroen Berlingo and she’ll take her luggage and head for her new life. I fear the moment I’ll stop seeing long empty roads stretching across different climates and at different hours, because when that moment does arrive, I’ll be going home to an empty bed. A bed without Sophia and her extravagant ways. A bed without her messy hair all over my face, her legs intertwined with mine, and her left arm always reaching for my left hand. She hates being the small spoon, and for twenty two years she’s ruled my world, the color of our bedsheets, and our sleeping positions.
Lucia Carretero SierraPublished 2 years ago in FictionThe Distance In This Small Town
A soft morning light drifted gently in through the blinds. The popping sound of hot sizzling grease reverberated off the walls. The welcoming smell of bacon filled the cool air, blessing those nearby.
Hayden N BellPublished 2 years ago in FictionDelilah and Dr. Brown
She hated it here. Maybe ‘hate’ was too strong a word. Granted, she could appreciate what they did or, in this case, what they were trying to do, but surely it didn’t have to smell like the inside of a retirement home, the mustiness barely disguised by a lavender oil diffuser. Shouldn’t be so glum, though. This was, after all, a session she wouldn’t have to pay for.
Andrew CarringtonPublished 2 years ago in FictionReflections
I'm waiting for a taxi at 7pm - I finished work late. There was a problem with the copy machine, and I had to climb to the 7th floor to find another. No elevator... I'm treating my body like a temple. The blisters on my feet are killing me for it, so I slip off my heels, and stand barefoot in the rain.
Rachel M.JPublished 2 years ago in FictionIf I Had A Dragon
When I was little I would look at the world differently then most. It was as if my eyes were playing tricks on me throughout my childhood. Growing up I lived in the city: tall buildings that put my house to shame, and the smog that filled up thousands of peoples burning lungs. Oh the people, the streets were overrun by people, getting from here to there, shoving others out of the way for whatever nonsense they were late too. That is why my brain seemed to resort to the imagination, to the thoughts and ideas that were pulled from me. Things that even I could not even fathom.
Madison B.Published 2 years ago in FictionExile On Staten Island.
I am eighty-two. My hair is raven black; Just like the day, I was born. However, I have shrunken, my bones audible with each movement.
Leire
Leire drives through the roads of Germany with her left side window wide open. The warm air coming off the heating escapes through it as fast as the tears pour down her cheeks. It’s minus two degrees outside but Siberian weather inside her guts. She rolls herself a cigarette while holding the wheel with her wrists, hoping for another car to show up at any point so she wouldn’t be the smallest thing in the immense scenery that is the Northern Limestone Alps.
Lucia Carretero SierraPublished 2 years ago in Fiction