Top Stories
New stories you'll love, handpicked for you by our team and updated daily.
Knotted Roots - Part 2. Top Story - September 2025.
My sweat-soaked and mud-stained shirt draped over Spot’s saddle, as Grace and I walked with our arms linked. The burnt amber glow behind the mountains quickly faded, and the starry night and full moon illuminated our dirt trail. For a few minutes, we walked silently, both of us keeping a curious eye on the sky, as if hoping this moment would never end. “You know, I don’t think I mentioned this before, but…” Grace hesitated, a small smile shadowed by the brim of her hat, which was pulled upwards as her eyes watched our boots. “It’s really nice having you back.” She stated, a slight hint of relief in her voice, peering upwards towards me to meet my eyes, as I looked over at her. Unable to really respond, I smiled at her as the stubble from my beard prickled my cheeks. I wish I were here because I truly wanted to be here, not out of remorse from a dying father. But what kind of son would I be if I allowed his legacy to die, to let him die alone? Ever since mom passed, he was always focused on the ranch. I grew weary of it all and wanted to experience life outside of this country lifestyle. Would Grace understand that? Should I tell her? Deciding to shake off the uneasiness, I decided to push that conversation off for another time. “Yeah, Grace, it’s good to be home.” Her eyes sparkled under the night sky, lulling me into her warmth. I placed my hand on her arm, as if assuring her. “Remember when we would run through the wildflowers?” She began, “You mean, chasing you for stealing my lasso?” With a shared moment of laughter she continued, “Okay, I may have borrowed…” “Borrowed? Is that what we call it now?” I teased. “Okay, first off, I at least know how to use a lasso!” Her snarky recoil caused a shift in me, a warmth in my center. The truth is, I missed Grace, but I didn’t miss the painful memories from losing my mom and now my ill father. “Second,” She continued, and her voice faded as I became consumed by her witty playfulness, the way her dimples revealed her bluff. “You think you can lasso better than me?!” I asked her, my voice low, husky. We came to a stop, my eyes challenging her, my smile welcoming. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were presenting a challenge.” Grace had moved in a way where we were facing each other, her voice low, alluring as her accent still thick. She leaned inwards and shifted upwards from her tiptoes. “You know I love a good competition.” The way her smile grew and the feeling of pure electricity between us intensified. Tucking a loose blonde curl behind Grace’s ear, I cupped her chin in my rough hand, her skin soft and radiant. “Jasper…” The breathlessness in her voice was being restrained by something, “Yes, my kitten…” My eyes darkened, my mouth dry. “I…” “Grace!” A male’s voice rang out, cutting the tension between us, a voice I didn’t recognize. My face, shadowed and hidden by my hat brim, hid my annoyance from Grace, a moment to adjust before she could see. “Who’s that little kitten?” Her head hung low and then upwards with a reassuring smile, one that was almost apologetic in a way, “That’s uh, well…” “There you are, Grace!” A lean, muscled man came running up, his jeans dark and clean, his boots without a scuff, his blonde wavy hair tucked behind his ears, a loose white button-down shirt tucked behind an oversized belt buckle. He swept by me, embracing her in his arms, spinning her around as her feet lifted from the ground. “I thought something had happened to you…” “Greg, I…I’m just fine, and I can stand on my own; you needn’t sweep me up like that.” Grace clamored with poise and elegance as she charmingly demanded to be put down. This Greg, whoever he was, doesn’t appear to be a cowboy; he’s too clean-cut, too polished. “Oh! I’m sorry, man, I was just so caught up seeing my little sunshine here, I lost my manners. The name’s Greg, Greg Combs.” He extended his hand, reluctantly, I shook his hand. It was like waving a limp noodle, as my firm hand squeezed his as if silently warning him. “Jasper Black.” My tone was sharp like a blade. “Well, Grace, it looks like you’ll find your way from here,” I said as I gave Spot a few pats. Tipping my hat to Grace respectfully, I walked off towards my porch, digging my hands in my pockets, not looking back. Of course she had a boyfriend; hell, he could be her husband for all I know! I don't want to ruin her any more than I already have. I realized as my boots thudded across the wooden porch, I left more than just my father that day. I left her.
By Sibley Shamra12 months ago in Chapters
Black Cowgirls were prominent in the American West. Top Story - September 2025.
There were black cowgirls in the American West In the episode of Family Matters titled The Good the Bad, and the Urkel, Carl Winslow (Reginald VelJohnson) dreams he is in the Old West, where Rachel Crawford (Telma Hopkins) runs a saloon. This led me to wonder if there were Black cowgirls or African American female saloon owners in those days.
By Cheryl E Preston12 months ago in FYI
Echoes of Loss. Top Story - September 2025. Content Warning.
[TW: family conflict, mental illness, suicide] A frantic scratching comes from the front door, echoing through our living room. Claws scrapping against hard wood. A sound I know well– Bilbo, our cat, trying to get in. Bilbo died a year ago.
By Scott Christenson🌴12 months ago in Fiction
The Curse of the Sotkari Ta. Top Story - September 2025.
As you all might remember from my review of Whitney Hill’s The Shadows of Otherside, I have been a freelance editor and beta reader for a few years. In this piece, I wanted to introduce you to another of the fantastic indie authors I’ve worked with and the book series that she’s brought into this world: Maria A. Perez (a new writer to Vocal) and her romantic space opera trilogy The Curse of the Sotkari Ta.
By Stephanie Hoogstad12 months ago in BookClub
#3 Panic Monster, Be Gone... 💪🏾💪🏾💪🏾. Top Story - September 2025.
Thirteen-year-old Bailey Daniels slowly walked up the carpeted hallway of Swan Lee Christian Middle School and headed towards her fourth-period history class. Her baby blue Jansport backpack felt like it had a million bricks in it; in reality it had three textbooks, a notebook, a calculator, a yellow highlighter, a mechanical pencil and two ink pens in it.
By Tiffany Gordon12 months ago in Fiction
Trapped!!. Top Story - September 2025.
This is the life, Niobe thought to herself after a long day of setting up the trailer by herself. It was weeks of planning to get to where she was to finally camp at her favourite campground not to far from home. Her dad parked the RV for her, set up the essentials and left!
By Leslie Strom12 months ago in Fiction
SWS: Somewhere Between Here and There Challenge Winners
Some poems show up in the middle of things. You’re halfway through a step, or catching your breath before the next word, and suddenly it all feels clear. That’s exactly where this challenge took us.
By Vocal Curation Team12 months ago in Resources
Dear Ouija Enthusiasts. Top Story - September 2025.
Dear Ouija Enthusiasts (humans), Halloween season is upon us, and as usual, many of you fools will venture upon Ouija encounters. While my comrades and I have no objections, due to last season's hike in spirit board related fatalities, we decided to put our thirst for naive souls aside momentarily and issue a one-time set of guidelines, outlining specific dos and don'ts, followed by a non-exhaustive list of repercussions for adamant opposers.
By Marilyn Glover12 months ago in Fiction
