Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
Drowning in Sorrows.
In the absence of light, I suppose darkness is my new ruler. I am beside myself but can’t presume my owner has the audacity to leave me here surrounded in this cesspool of filth. Doesn't she know I am royalty? I was forged on a pedestal and looked highly upon by jealous eyes wishing I could be theirs. I hope she has organized search efforts. Or at the absolute least, filed a missing possession report with the proper authorities.
Lamar WigginsPublished 3 months ago in FictionLollipop Dreams
I glared at the ticket placed before me until the typed numbers appeared to be nothing more than squiggles. Tobacco wafted through the dusty air of my cramped apartment. The kitchen faucet dripped; each drop of water vibrating in my ears. Picking up the worn slip of paper with shaking hands, I flipped it over, quickly reading the claim written in bold ink:
Isabella RosePublished 3 months ago in FictionOphelia
Trigger Warning: mentions of domestic abuse Your hands were sweaty the first time we met. It seemed to permeate my keys as you shakingly plugged in ten digits and the name "Ophelia." You tossed me into your purse, unaware of how I bounced around until I sunk to the bottom. It was dark in that purse, the kind that grabs and holds you hostage without any hope of escape. I didn't much care about the pitch dark as a bit of curiosity led me to search the internet.
Alexandria StanwyckPublished 3 months ago in FictionThe Train to Kuranda
It was time to emerge from the belly of Buda-dji. He had come to Buda-dji from a burning land, where nothing but flame, scorched earth, and charred brush lingered. The dry air had choked on smoke and haze. Ash had rained down from the heavens, dusting the burnt remains that littered the ground with a cinereous burial shroud.
Rachel Hannah FendrichPublished 3 months ago in FictionPlastic
I would look in the mirror and all I could see was this plastic shell. When I was a young girl, over time, I realized I had people pleased my way into or out of situations. At times, it would come off a bit flamboyant or overly enthusiastic in conversation, portraying a phony persona, all to make sure I didn’t disappoint someone. It’s not that my intentions were to ever forge, but to make sure I’m pleasing everyone around me.
Natasha CollazoPublished 3 months ago in FictionSnow Angel
I feel the tears on your face bleeding into my heart as you stare out the back window of our house and I know you’re thinking of me. The bittersweet memories this snow covered landscape brings so clearly to your soul are also etched into mine. Can you feel me, Papa, like I can feel you? Can you see me like I can see you? I’m right here, Papa, standing in the snow, under the old apple tree waiting for you.
Gerald HolmesPublished 3 months ago in FictionSilence the Wisdom
"Make sure your boots straps are tight" ordered Molly in a friendly but firm tone. "Yessss Mom" Sally replied, rolling her eyes for being talked to like a child. After all, she was 14 and knew how to put on a pair of boots.
G. A. BoteroPublished 4 months ago in FictionWinter in the Trenches
November 20th, 1916 Dearest Kathleen, Snow came to wipe the sins of man. With it, the harsh punishment of blistering cold. Despite the heavy layers of white, it will never wash away the blood. Its stains are the remembrance of how far men will go when they believe the righteousness in what they’re fighting for.
Hyde WunderliPublished 4 months ago in FictionSnowy Commute
Wrapping my plaid scarf around my face, I head out my front door. It’s early, the overcast sky adding to the darkness of the winter morning.
Heather ZiefflePublished 3 months ago in FictionBest Friends
Their giggles were infectious; Betty Rubble and Wilma Flintsone like. Looking up at the sky, the warmth of the sun on their faces, yet the air is crisp from the winter breeze tickling their noses and making them slightly runny; their cheeks are flushed and rosy.
Jess BoyesPublished 4 months ago in FictionDecrescendo
I'm wearing the hand-me-down leggings of a girl who got cancer and lived. Fraying and soaked at the kneecaps. I crouch by snow-sunken tires - pawing our car deeper into the hillside with ungloved hands. Futile, numb effort.
Secret Writer Challenge!
Welcome back to another challenge! 🎉 The prompt: Write a historical microfiction that takes place in the 1800s from the perspective of a slave in America that can secretly read and write.
Real PoeticPublished 4 months ago in Fiction