Top Stories
New stories you'll love, handpicked for you by our team and updated daily.
Businesswoman Chapter 211. Top Story - July 2025.
Loreen never attended a faith-based service. In her forty-one years, she had been to weddings and funerals but not a full Sunday service. This moment did not change that constant trajectory, her six-year-old son Bonham asked her, “Mommy, why don’t we go to church?”
By Skyler Saundersabout a year ago in Chapters
Summer's Rain 🌧️. Top Story - July 2025.
Ziv was eight years old. He had always loved the rain. When the Summer sun heated his skin to melting and the sky turned a darker shade...he would escape when Momma was not looking and go jump in the puddles, his clothes drenched in the downpour.
By Novel Allenabout a year ago in Fiction
The Conduit: Chapter 14. Top Story - July 2025.
Anu made it to the bottom of the wall first. The climb hadn’t been as bad as she imagined. It was Jonas who struggled, and he was still only halfway down. As she waited, Anu used her light to get a good look at their surroundings. Things were more amazing than imagined. The entire world they dropped into was something that shouldn’t exist.
By Jason Mortonabout a year ago in Chapters
Specter of La Sirene del Crescente. Top Story - July 2025.
I rubbed the inky residue off the tip of my finger with a napkin and pursed my lip casually. The commission was done, but something seemed missing – and I knew it was more than the absence of my artist signature in the right-hand bottom corner. I narrowed my eyes and continued to peer at the image I’d created – the morphing edges of grey, black, and white somehow seeming to shift across the page as I stared back at it.
By Sai Marie Johnsonabout a year ago in Chapters
I am Bexley chap 25 “Heavy”. Top Story - July 2025.
We had a moment. She asked me about true love. “So? Spill. I need to know. How did you know?” Emma says to me. It’s a moment of quiet after the storm. All of us have been in a heated debate of whether we should go home to heal Asher or go to talk to some of the higher members of the zombie elite. So far, there hasn’t been any sort of conclusion to everyone’s bickering. Stan and I don’t agree. He is my husband—-it saddens me that we’re not on the same page. He wanted to go home. I wanted to talk to the elite to get negotiations started. It’s not that I didn’t think going home to Asher wasn’t important—-it was. I just felt this heavy weight cross over me thinking about all the poor souls and undead needing help and better shelter, equal rights and a better life/unlife.
By Melissa Ingoldsbyabout a year ago in Fiction
AI - The Phantom Menace. Top Story - July 2025.
We’ve all read and heard about the various problems that artificial intelligence (AI) can bring. Some are already happening—like job losses or media being flooded with AI-generated texts and images. Others remain in the realm of science fiction.
By Bozhan Bozhkovabout a year ago in Futurism
Pitching ideas is insulting to many seasoned writers. Top Story - July 2025.
Pitch has many definitions The word "Pitch" has several definitions, which include. To throw a ball for a batter to try to hit.The quality of a sound governed by the rate of vibrations producing it; the degree of highness or lowness of a tone.The black sticky substance used to patch a roofThe steepness of a roof, is often called the pitchPitch black or black as pitch describes the darkness of night without any light comparing it to the substance used on a roof.A form of words used when trying to persuade someone to buy or accept something.
By Cheryl E Prestonabout a year ago in Writers
Review of 'Superman'. Top Story - July 2025.
I've been following and enjoying Superman's exploits since I started watching him played by George Reeves on television when I was a kid in the 1950s, and started reading the comic book a few years later, created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster way back in 1938. And as an adult I even contributed an article about The Man of Steel -- “Superman, Patriotism, and Doing the Ultimate Good” (which explored why Superman didn't just wipe out Hitler and the Nazis in World War Two) in The Man from Krypton -- an anthology published in 2006.
By Paul Levinsonabout a year ago in Futurism
SWS: Light Breaks Water Challenge Winners
Welcome back to the Summer Writing Series, and to our first poetry challenge winners announcement of the season. For this challenge, we asked you to write like sunlight touching the surface. To find the stillness before the ripple, the moment where something shifts without warning.
By Vocal Curation Teamabout a year ago in Resources
Song in a Room Without Light. Top Story - July 2025.
I wasn’t okay, but I got good at performing the illusion, which made me an ideal freshman and unfit to survive. I escaped a small town by playing dead. I earned high grades, played a good kid, kept my voice tucked low. When I reached the university, no one looked twice. I dissolved into lecture halls and tried to stay visible enough not to vanish, quiet enough not to be pulled apart.
By Fatal Serendipityabout a year ago in Writers
Magic Reborn. Top Story - July 2025.
The air whipped around them chilled by the early start of winter, and the dazzling lights of the skyline gave way to the rolling curves of the milky-way. Hecate cruised through the air lazily, half-tempted to jettison the scrappy little upstarts gliding beside her. But, her curiosity had been property piqued by this itchy-witchy little girl who had dared to seek her out in this modern age.
By Taylor Rigsbyabout a year ago in Fiction
Hag Torches. Top Story - July 2025.
"DON'T CUT DOWN THE MULLEIN! SAVE IT FOR HAG TORCHES!" Well. You didn't have to drop a house on me to get my attention; all caps, plants, directive, and the specter of villagers carrying burning brands aloft was plenty enough for me. With that I made a cup of coffee and settled in to a local community Facebook group with over 300 comments to see just what wisdom I could glean from neighbors I'd never met.
By Judey Kalchik about a year ago in FYI
Cuck-oo. Top Story - July 2025.
I think, on reflection, that it would have been better if Isaiah had been a chauvinist. If he'd made some vulgar remarks about my breasts, swelling and leaking under my loose blouse. He could have grinned at me rakishly. Wolfishly even. He could've leered. I'd have pulled back, of course. Alarmed that a man acted this way (but not really). I'd have frowned. Sniffed. Slapped him, oh yes. Flounced. Ordered him the hell out of my house. The problem was, he had clear olive skin and a charming smile. Good hygiene. He smelled nice. There was a faint whiff of something like lavender around him, only more masculine. He was well-groomed, without ever seeming vain. Softly spoken. Polite. The problem was, he didn't make my skin crawl. Didn't set off my women's intuition. Not even a tingle. At least, not that sort. He paid his rent on time. Kept his room neat. Not just his room, either. He helped out. He projected an aura of confidence and capability, but it was more than that. He got shit done. He saw what needed doing, and he did it. I never nagged him. I never even asked. He never put me in the undesirable position of asking. He just... did what needed doing. (Be still my heart!) More: he did it well enough we didn't need to pay another man to do it properly afterwards. In short, here is a man, you find yourself thinking, who has his shit together. Isaiah is pleasant. He compliments you, but never, at least at first, in a way he couldn't repeat in front of your husband. He makes you feel seen. Valued. This is an awful thing to do to a mother, who feels invisible, and consumed by her own self. Especially awful to do to one who has been at the grindstone of motherhood for several years already, and a new baby has recently done a number on a body which is already a little worn from Time and Gravity and three other children testing it like a hotel and then busting out of it. This breed of woman is peculiarly vulnerable to such tactics, and a man like Isaiah smiles, knowing it. Flirts a little harder. Watches her reaction. Pushes a little, just a little. To find where the boundary is. Pushes a little more. There are moments when his gaze lingers a little too long, just a fraction of a heartbeat. Or perhaps he stands a little close, and he lets you see his breath catch. He pulls away abruptly, but with a deferential dip of his head, and then he hurries away, as if he can hardly contain himself, but knows he must. Here is a man, you find yourself thinking, who is steeped in passion, and yet always does the right thing. My girls think he is wonderful, of course. Liza, my eldest, flirts openly and clumsily with him. Tosses her long hair, smirks at him sidewise. Or else pins it up on her head, to expose the back of her neck and make her look taller. He never reciprocates, yet he never makes her feel stupid or rejected either. I could have loved him for that. For the way he protected her tart of a heart. One evening, he was clearing away the dishes after dinner. Not the way Ivor does, either: dumping them on the nearest kitchen surface, or in the sink (still covered in leftovers and food wrappings). I apologised for the way Liza had tried to sit in his lap, and for the cut of her blouse, which, to my eyes, was practically to her navel. I can't remember his response, precisely. It was along the lines of, She's going to practise on someone. Isn't it better she does it under your nose? He gave the impression of a man impervious. She's a child, he said, with not quite scorn. I could no more find her attractive than little Bobby, there, (here he nodded at the youngest, who was gurgling on his mat and wrestling with his own feet). I was left feeling that, if Loretta should throw herself naked at Isaiah while I wasn't home, he would disentangle himself with tact. Really, Isaiah was a man who made you feel safe, and there is perhaps no more dangerous creature in all the seven continents. + Loretta snuggles up to him if ever Isaiah sits with us in the evenings. Thumb in her mouth, or else chattering away about ponies. He never chides her that she is too old for thumb-sucking, and he never shoots judgemental looks at me, either, for not curbing the habit successfully. He accepts her the way an easy-going person might an affectionate dog. Her hair is shorter than Liza's. We keep it in a sleek black bob, because she hates having it brushed. But one morning, when we were all in a terrible hurry, Isaiah offered to do it for her and she sat as neat and quiet as you like. He was gentle, which surprised her, and also efficient, which made her pout. Ellison's mouth is always stretched in a grin when Isaiah is around. My son thinks our lodger is quite, quite wonderful. He wants his opinion on everything. He calls him sir. The raucous energy that powers him everywhere else is tamed. He wants Isaiah to think him older than he is, as much as Liza does, though for different reasons. Isaiah was a little too good looking for Ivor to warm to straight away, but so skilled was Isaiah in his craft that even Ivor got to like him eventually. Isaiah projected nothing but respectful harmlessness. He was so unassuming when he replaced bulbs, and tightened hinges, and repainted what needed repainting, that Ivor came to take these things for granted. As if this were part of the deal: room and board in return for maintenance work and handymanning. + He did it so smoothly that not one of us saw it coming. Nor did our neighbours. Before I knew which way was up, I had a hopeless crush on him, and he played on it. Wound it tighter every day, with every glance, and with every glance avoided. Ellison preferred Isaiah's opinion to his own father's. I couldn't bear to have Ivor touch me after a long day of being pawed at by Bobby. In fairness, Ivor didn't always feel so inclined after a long day in the clinic. Still, I fantasised about firm, tanned hands, and intense darks eyes. Liza didn't let up for a single day, and Loretta started growing her hair out. Even Bobby joined the little fan club. + His initials appeared next to ours on the mailbox. I.N. Nobody else round here has one, but Ivor likes it, because it reminds him of home. He didn't notice the extra letters initially, and then it was like they'd always been there. + Isaiah was determined to edge out his rival, I see that now. By any means necessary. First, Ivor injured his knee out running. Ivor never went running, but maybe he was shamed into it by the lean young man smiling at his wife. Barely had he recovered from that, he sprained his arm when he fell from the ladder while fixing the guttering. Neither injury was life-threatening, though, so Isaiah upped his game. At least, that's what I think now. I never thought such a thing back then. Like I said, we never saw it coming.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
