Top Stories
New stories you'll love, handpicked for you by our team and updated daily.
Tallow Her Heart. Top Story - October 2026.
Her heart is in autumn kept as tallow in a jar too stubborn to melt in her state, too stubborn to be here now where summer never ends and every leaf-worn wind sends her back again to all the reasons she hates seasons where nothing ever falls but her feelings— unhappy with the weather unwrapping her present for another, where sumac turns scarlet and pumpkins light the porch, where lovers get lost in tall grass and crows gather around the straw man. If those northern pastures are what she's after, those crows, like her, are free, and the next October wind, when she falls again, I can follow her there. I can follow her where tallow melts her heart, till dusk bells ring us home. Or she can go alone— there is no lid holding her in. Autumn isn't the love I'm missing— it's the present she's unwrapping. If she'd rather be there than here, where am I?
By Pixel Floyd5 days ago in Poets
Out of Season Challenge Winners
We’re trying something new with our challenge awards structure. Starting with Out of Season , each challenge will recognize one grand prize , four winners , and ten honorable mentions . That’s 15 stories to celebrate, with a little extra love for the top pick. For this challenge, the strongest stories made the timing matter. Something showing up early or returning when it shouldn’t changed what people did, what they assumed, or how they saw each other. There was humor in trying to carry on as usual, and sadness in realizing why the usual schedule no longer worked. Sometimes the wrong time of year turned out to be just when someone needed it.
By Vocal Curation Teamabout 5 hours ago in Resources
Broken Mirror. Top Story - October 2026.
The lights are on, and you stare at yourself in the mirror, still and soft is the curve of your cheeks. Chubby, but they manage to stay clear, now and through the growing years of your teens. You never pick at your skin, though there are some blemishes that naturally come as years trek on.
By Rachael Anraa day ago in Fiction
Mississippi Wizards . Top Story - October 2026.
What better way to start off spooky season than a little horror book review from one of our very own! You know those trope boards? Those ones all over booktok? I despise, no I abhor those things because if you only ever pick books like you're ordering at Chipotle, you might never pick up a book like this.
By Matthew J. Fromm2 days ago in BookClub
Take a Whiff of October. Top Story - October 2026.
It’s the smell that hits you first Something charred, something burnt Pumpkin spiced alcohol Party kids getting turnt The township of October Has many alleys, many corners Every nook and every cranny Has a different weeping mourner
By Stephen Kramer Avitabile2 days ago in Poets
My Amber Place. Top Story - October 2026.
I’m going to October, my amber place, where life unfolds in richly hued shades. The sun is dim in the morning fog mountain peaks invisible The air is fresh and damp, infused with a salty sea fragrance mixed with a woody, damp, and musty scent of October leaves Afternoon sun burns off the chill and mist Sparrows sing and tussle among the shrubs below The large Flicker who calls as he bobs his head and tail He shouts that October is here, telling the world he is ready. Tree frogs croak in the afternoon sun, their final hurrah before They must hibernate for colder months Join me in my amber room, let’s look at the russet, umber, and burgundy fingers, now fatigued and dropping down to their ankles and toes. Walk with me to see the sun’s beams glinting on sunshine-colored trees, peeking through branches and ricocheting to porch pumpkins and butter chrysanthemums that are growing next to the Ghouls that stand in yards, waiting for night to light them up, so that they can roar at walkers, and charm drivers “Charm?” you say – “A matter of opinion.” “Yes.” Taller and scarier, pumpkin head or scarecrow, Skeletons and aliens, all competing to do it better. “We could bob for apples on the front lawn. Over there is a big vat of water, with yellow and red floaters. And the prize, a caramel-coated apple rolled in nuts.” “NOOOO,” shouts the twelve-foot ghoul and reaches out a hand “The apples are mine, from a friend.” We turn to look where his bony finger points, and see a bare tree that gave fruit to the kids on the street while letting the bandit raccoons of the night pick a few. I hope you enjoyed the tour of my amber place, the russet-gold October of falling leaves and slumbering trees.
By Andrea Corwin 2 days ago in Poets
Breathing. Top Story - October 2026.
Marilee sang along with the song on the radio as she drove into town. She was in an unusually good mood, despite having to make a last-minute trip because the eggs she had were rotten. Maybe it was because she was still excited to make peanut butter cookies? Or that she needed to get extra forks anyway? Maybe it was because it was a beautiful day and she had gotten out of bed at a decent time? Or that traffic wasn’t bad at all?
By Rebecca Patton2 days ago in Horror
Come Wednesday. Top Story - October 2026. Content Warning.
Come Wednesday, might this window view be brighter Nor'easter turbulence Dumps another round of rain Nature's unsettled womb; it's personal Forehead to pane Whipping wind pulls my chest tighter Tears Midstream drought Raw, irritated, swollen, moisture-stripped eyes Awkward silence Oriel reflection; side view Less than a bump Side-eyed empty cradle Waiting for the arrival of grace Recalling when hope didn't deliver Fear: am I unable Coastal collision colors corneas clay Come Wednesday, might this window view be clearer Weather satellite; comma-shaped storm Counterclockwise If I could go back Would I heed the forecast Connect one thing to the next Outline probabilities Foretell context Empty clothesline flaps in the wind Lawn chair flips across the yard Off-season treason Body overthrows heart Head to pane Matrix mindful— pear-shaped lies Come Wednesday, might this window view be forgiven Sun's reclamation Will Gaia apologize to the garden Or ask her to act as if nothing ever happened Eroded Goldenrod Corroded potted Chrysanthemums Bruising outlook Landscape stamp on my heart Open screen; hand out Fertility prayers Mother-wuthered seeds palm mitted Heart's black and blue Nature's embryotic reassignment Personal Anemochory; biological memory Oh, when will yellow and purple finally make green Come Wednesday, might this window view look brighter Terra, don't clap back to my thunder I've seen it earlier Same date, different year Kindly Precipitation prelude positive prognosis May open heavens bless me So I am not repulsed by the gods Because I've been here before Riding Climate carousel Exit retrospect Function missing extra pulse Heartbeat hymns Short window; today is Sunday Appointment. Anniversary Birth-death-one breath Window view blues Erratic forecast Three days and waiting What will happen come Wednesday
By Marilyn Glover5 days ago in Poets
It’s Not Me It’s Him. Top Story - October 2026.
The ever-changing scenery scrolls by your drowsy eyes as you gaze out a window. The gentle rocking from side to side of the train carriage only adds to the overall listlessness your body is feeling. Travelling by train is an unusual experience for you, only occurring when your journeys take you across the pond. These trips have become more frequent as the political climate continues to change around the globe, and your particular skill set is in greater demand.
By Mark Gagnon3 days ago in Fiction
Who?. Top Story - October 2026.
Content note: this story deals with domestic abuse and thoughts of suicide. …Sobbing. "Mother, please help me!" A loud, drunken voice yelled, "She is not going to help you; she knows better!" The young man looked at his mother with desperate tears in his eyes, wanting her protection. She stood by the sink, tugging her sleeve down over the purple bruise on her wrist, the way she always did. They shared a moment's stare, looking directly into each other's eyes, into each other's souls. Her lip trembled. For a second, he thought she would speak. The mother broke into tears and hung her head. Then the back of his stepfather's hand caught him across the jaw. A chair crashed to the floor beside him, and the kitchen spun as the young man's vision went blurry. He tasted blood. His stepfather was looking down on him, laughing, and said, "You are as worthless as she is; why don't you do us all a favor and end it."
By George Shannon Ferguson4 days ago in Humans
