Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
A Blueberry Muffin Christmas
I sat quietly behind the shop counter with my nose buried in a philosophy textbook, struggling to focus on its contents. I guess this was good for me and all, working at Dowtin Peak’s singular cafe over Christmas break to pay off my student loans. But it was Christmas Day. Who, in a town of 2,000 people, wants to drive downtown in a blizzard for an overpriced cup of joe on Christmas? No one, apparently, because the shop was empty.
Evelyn CormierPublished 3 years ago in FictionBeneath The Amber Moon
Colin hadn’t come to his hometown for many years, well he says town, a village is much closer to the truth, a tiny village. The type of village where, like a cheesy version of the old TV show 'Cheers', where everybody knows your name. But they aren't always glad you come that is for sure.
Widow's Walk
Day after day, I climbed the steps to the cupola on the roof to watch for my husband’s ship. I hated that Charles had had to go back to the sea; only last year he had retired from the long trading voyages. With the profit of thirty years as captain, he had purchased his favorite ship and another of similar design, and a large warehouse. Thus settled in business, he had our present home built to his specification: red brick, with the servants’ quarters and kitchen on the ground floor, and dining hall and study above. On the top floor were the bedrooms, ours and two smaller rooms for our sons, Henry and William, all surmounted by a low-ceilinged attic. A trapdoor brought down a stairway to the roof, where the cupola, surrounded by a railing, stood – a captain’s walk, he called it, so that he might watch for his ships’ comings and goings. He had seen them in one of the southern colonies and determined that he should be the first merchant he knew to have one on his own home. His ships were called Salem Town and Colonial Bull – the latter a reference to his favorite tavern, the Bull’s Horns, which he also owned a half-stake in and where he always took his crews for dinner upon arriving safe in harbor and again before setting sail. I confess the ships looked the same as any other in the harbor to me, save that I recognized the officers aboard when they docked, but Charles could see a mast barely peeping over the horizon and know whether it was his own or another’s. He would watch as she approached the wharf to see that the proper number of men were on deck – there always being a risk of illness or accident at sea – and once she was tied up, he would hurry downstairs and across the square to supervise the unloading of cargo. There were usually contracts for most of the goods to be sold on to shops, but there were always some goods that someone was trying to move quickly, and Charles’s captains were savvy in what might or might not be worth finding room aboard for.
Randi O'Malley SmithPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Trip of a Lifetime
It’s almost Halloween and the haunting memories from that night five years ago are back again. Every year since that trip, around this time, the nightmares caused by that night return and transport me back in time. I know in my heart that the things I saw on that day were not real and just tricks played on my mind by the incredibly well-planned set-up of the party and whatever the hell it was that Tony dropped in our drinks.
Gerald HolmesPublished 3 years ago in FictionNo Turning Back Now
Eli tried to look at the people in the helicopter with him without being obvious about it. He didn't want them to think he was a fanboy. But wow! He couldn't believe he was going to be attending an event with so many big names.
Chloe LongstreetPublished 3 years ago in FictionTrouble on the Water
Cold spray crashed against the windows of the small fishing boat as she pierced the crest of a wave and then pitched down into the trough. Time and time again the unforgiving cycle had gone on battering the boat and soaking the three-man crew to the skin.
Thea YoungPublished 3 years ago in Fictionsolitude under the stars
Winter months at sea are my favourite. Unlike the summer months, where the seas are crowded with boats and the screams of irritable children rival the screeches of gulls, winter has the one thing I cherish most: solitude.
Katarina ChuiPublished 3 years ago in FictionNightswimming
Sometimes I go swimming alone, at night. Under the silvered scree of moonlight, I undress and pad quietly into the cool shallows. In September, the fog rolls in, an ancient cue for impending winter and the solid freeze known in the north as Ice Down. I will lean back, float serenely, eyes trained on the slivers of light that breach the overhanging pines. I imagine I am young, a girl in the throes of teenage angst, rebelling against the oaken crush of an overtired single mother. I imagine I am in love, arms twisted around the muscular shoulders of an older lover, a sensual tryst in the chill of autumn. I imagine I am strong, stronger than his pressings, his pleas, his sweet whispers and platitudes in my crimson ear.
Aaron SteelePublished 3 years ago in FictionWinter’s Love
I crouched behind the clump of bushes, watching her. Her long dark hair was dotted with crystals as they tumbled from the sky. Her clear blue eyes lifted to gaze at the heavens as she soared into the air. She slid away from me, then giggled as she was propelled forward again. The chains of the swing set looked like rivers, twisted beneath her gloved fingertips. Her pink hat was daintily perched upon her crown, a sharp contrast to the deep, rich chocolate of her hair, trailing out behind her with the wind as she swung forward. Her laugh broke the winter silence as it rang out, chimes in the wind. I closed my eyes and savored the richness of it. Recollection of the sound sparked longing deep within my chest, a pain that outweighed the cold upon my bare feet or the bitter wind upon my back. I longed to go to her, to embrace her once more. She would not recognize me now, I thought angrily. I returned my gaze to the summer angel immersed in winter as she innocently played, oblivious to my surveillance. She swung high in the air now, soaring above the ground; her eyes glittered mischievously as she shifted her grip on the chains. All at once, she let go and flew, a wingless bird soaring over the white powder. She crash landed into a drift of snow that exploded upon impact, into cold, downy crystals. She grinned and a giggle burst out of her. Her bliss was overwhelming, washing off of her in waves of joy. So contagious it was that I involuntarily let out a soft barking laugh.
Ari StrellaPublished 3 years ago in FictionDaughter.
The girl sighed as she stared defeatedly at the unremarkable ceiling over head. Gentle rays of light danced against the light blue walls of the room. The sun rose slowly in the sky, the beautiful mixes of oranges and yellows and pinks, replacing the black and navy of the night before. The girl ran a hand through her red hair. Another sleepless night had come and gone. Her chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm as she contemplated doing it today.
Cianna WilliamsPublished 3 years ago in FictionCareful What Name You Choose
Shortly after moving into our new neighborhood, my wife found him on Interstate 12 in Louisiana. Unannounced, she delivered him to me, which was clearly against the rules. But our home is like the Roach Motel--if anything checks in, they never check out. The smell was painful, and after addressing the filth, tar, and matted hair, he was still unrecognizable as any particular breed.
Gerard DiLeoPublished 3 years ago in FictionWEAVERS
"He's gone!" "But where...?" "...and for how long?" "...The Storyweaver is fine. Right now, we should tend to our healing allies."
Kent BrindleyPublished 3 years ago in Fiction