Top Stories
New stories you'll love, handpicked for you by our team and updated daily.
Standing Outside Your Window. Top Story - August 2025.
Homonyms sound the same But their meanings split And so did we ~~~~~ You opened the window Called out like you cared But when I came You slammed it shut I stood there Lost in the cold Don't you want me anymore? ~~~~~ You watch me Through the window Make eye contact But no open door I see you let others in I used to have a key Now they walk in Where I once stood Where I once laughed Where I once mattered ~~~~~ I'm so sorry for being slow Now I'm just a ghost Outside your window Would you close your curtains too? __________________________________________ Thank you so much for reading this! 🥰 If you liked my writing, please leave a comment, click the heart and subscribe for free! You might enjoy this as well:
By Dharrsheena Raja Segarranabout a year ago in Poets
Still Life, With Peaches. Top Story - August 2025. Content Warning.
The house waited at the end of the gravel road, sunlit and still. Nothing stirred but dust in the wind. From the car, it might have been any summer of his boyhood. The porch slouched in the late afternoon light, the swing held its crooked smile. Ivy had taken the railings entirely.
By Oula M.J. Michaelsabout a year ago in Fiction
SWS: Things You Can’t Say Out Loud Challenge Winners
Welcome back to the Summer Writing Series, and to a challenge that asked you to cross a line most of us avoid. For Things You Can’t Say Out Loud, we invited you to give voice to the things that usually stay tucked away. The quiet fears, the buried truths, the words that sting a little too much to say aloud. From quiet reckonings and family tensions to grief, shame, and raw defiance, these poems didn’t hold back, and neither did you.
By Vocal Curation Teamabout a year ago in Resources
Whinberries. Top Story - August 2025.
I still remember how he looked, hunched over the wireless, late on that Sunday morning. It's my most abiding memory of him. His shirt, the mended one with blue stripes, was open at the cuffs and rolled back to his elbows, showing his sturdy, brown forearms. Mostly, we could only see the back of his head, he was so intent on teasing a signal from that radio. His hair was coal-black, and as neatly combed as if we'd been to church (we hadn't). When he turned to snap at Mother to stop her "bloody clattering" we could see how hard he bit on the pipe sticking out the side of his mouth, and the concentrated scowl over his eyes. That's how I remember him, and the memory brings me dread, even now. The memory of that morning is even worse, I think, than the fear the night before... * It was the last weekend before school started again. Saturday was mild and dry. The clouds felt heavy and low, but only for the grownups. They were too far away for the children to be bothered by them. Nerves pinched at Joanie. She'd prefer to stay at home and read. "Nonsense," her mother said. "Plenty of time for books soon. School starting this week! So! Get out in the fresh air. Get some colour in your cheeks. Ned will mind you -" here she shot a look at him, hard enough to send a lesser boy stumbling backwards, "won't you, Ned." "Course," Ned said, and that was that. * It was a nice day, even Joanie had to admit. Not too hot, nor too chilly. It was a bit exciting and fun to be off by themselves. In charge of how fast they went (she scuttled to keep up) and when they ate lunch (the hard cheese sandwiches were gone inside an hour.) "Here," Ned wiped the crumbs from his mouth and handed the lunch tin to Joanie. His hand was sweaty. Joanie wiped hers on her dress, and scuttled some more, the tin banging against her leg. She hadn't been hungry, not really, but she had a feeling if she didn't eat her share, Ned would finish it off himself, no matter how cross it made her. Ned scooped up a likely looking stick from the path and craned his neck to look up into a nearby apple tree. "Ned, no!" Joanie panted. "Mam said we're to get whinberries. Not apples." "Shut up," Ned was careless about his manners without an adult on hand to remind him. As far as he was concerned, little sisters were annoying and didn't count. "It's probably someone's tree," Joanie fretted. "We'll be in trouble." "You're always such a fraidy-cat." "Am not." "Shut up, then, and help me get these apples." He flailed the stick, and grinned in triumph when it connected and an apple sailed to the ground. "See?" he said. Easy! Look, I'll get another... You collect them, go on. Put them in the tin." "But the tin is for berries." Joanie looked doubtful. Apples were much bigger than whinberries. "Won't hardly be any berries, anyway," Ned swung the stick again. "All the good ones are gone. You'll see. It'll just be the shrivelled ones covered in dog widdle that no one wants. You should have come with us last time, there were loads." Joanie said nothing, but felt sure she hadn't missed much. She wondered if she could skip the pie tomorrow, and just have the custard. It was just like Ned, she thought peevishly, to ruin the best part of Sunday dinner. He was looking red in the face now with exertion and frustration. After his early success, the apples were proving hard to knock out of the tree. "Maybe try getting those smaller ones up there," Joanie pointed. "There's not much room left in the tin anyway." "Good thinking," said Ned, magnanimous for once. His fresh targets were much higher. He tried throwing the stick instead of waving it. Joanie found her own stick and joined in. The tin lay forgotten on the grass. The sun peeped out from the clouds. It was a rare and amicable moment. Joanie managed to hit three apples, although they hadn't fallen from the tree. Ned had been impressed. Joanie beamed. Ned set up a points system and scratched a tally on the stone wall. A man's voice, angry and yelling, made them both jump halfway out of their skins. "Hey! What do you think you're playing at! Hey!!" Ned and Joanie ran. They flew down the path and kept going, sure that the angry owner of the apple tree was right behind them. Pink faced and panting, Joanie asked, "Do you think he got a good look at us?" "At you, probably. You don't run very fast. They'll probably call you the snail when you start school. Or Moanie Joanie." Joanie had been trying hard not to think of that. Dread twisted her insides. Ned rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't start whining again. Come on. Did you get the tin?" Joanie went even pinker. *
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
Book Review: "The Complete Ghost Stories" by M.R James . Top Story - August 2025.
M.R James is perhaps one of my favourite short story writers purely for the fact that many of them are pretty bloody terrifying and have scared the pants off me in the past. There are certain stories in here where I have said to myself that I would never read again because when I read them the first time in my teens, I was really quite frightened. However, I have read them since then and I can confirm: still frightened. I'm actually working on a list of the scariest stuff I've ever read and if it has come out already by the time this review is released then I've done well there. If it hasn't, well then you might have to wait a bit longer for it.
By Annie Kapurabout a year ago in Geeks
Row, Row, Row You’re Boat. Top Story - August 2025.
She hated Summer with a deep passion for many reasons. One of the biggest reasons, was that in Summer, besides the baking heat, it would only go dark later in the evening, which made it hard to go to sleep, and Molly needed her sleep to function.
By Elizabeth Butlerabout a year ago in Fiction
Cat Daddy. Top Story - August 2025.
So it’s early 2025 and my mental health is in a bad place because of a year’s worth of life baggage coupled with a history of trauma. While beginning a quest to heal myself internally I was made aware of the common notion that cats make for good companions that aid in the improvement of mental health. Eventually I started discussing this with my closest friend who actually has multiple cats, one of which was pregnant at the time and we had an idea that it might be good for me to adopt one of her soon to be newborn kittens to help with my spiraling mental health. The outcome? I have now become a cat dad to a kitten named Bagheera S’mores.
By Joe Pattersonabout a year ago in Petlife
I Love Rock and Roll. Top Story - August 2025.
“We Will Rock You” is a song that was recorded by the British rock band Queen. It is featured on their 1977 album News of the World. The song was written by band member and guitarist Brian May. Rolling Stone magazine ranks it at number 330 on the list of The 500 Greatest Songs of All Time. In 2009 the song was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame.
By Rasma Raistersabout a year ago in Beat
The Masterful Lie We Tell Ourselves That Prevents Us From Reaching Our Potential. Top Story - August 2025.
As Humans, We are Incredibly Good at Lying to Ourselves. When you look at the Psychophysiology of it, you'll discover that it is a Fascinating Magic Trick that We Play on Our Brain.
By H.E. Dr. Cody Dakota Wooten, COIE, DFM, DHMabout a year ago in Psyche
How can we trust AI when it can't read. Top Story - August 2025.
I like to write as a hobby. It's my form of therapy. I post some of my content on Medium and Vocal. For the past few months I have been using AI to help catch grammar issues before I hit publish. I don't take all the suggestions but I feel it works for the big things that I may overlook. I find proofing my own work much more difficult than proofing someone else's work, probably because I read it too fast since I know what I wrote.
By G. A. Boteroabout a year ago in 01
Not my wake. Top Story - August 2025.
A lone Kookaburra’s raucous laugh splits the silent dawn. Soon, it’s solo performance swells to a trio, then a quartet. Birdsong rings from all sides of the stand of eucalyptus trees. Nature’s alarm clock at its best! Blinking away the last vestiges of sleep, I readily relinquish my grip on my weirdly recurring dream. Everyone had been panicking over an asteroid heading straight for earth. How bizarre! Such a random disaster to conjure up in my dreams nightmares.
By Angie the Archivist 📚🪶about a year ago in Fiction
