Top Stories
New stories you'll love, handpicked for you by our team and updated daily.
The Rotting Wreaths of Winterveil. Top Story - September 2026.
It was a truly tacit place, Winterveil —with unpredictable, looping weather and calendars that barely rang true. You would think students had grown accustomed to living such a life, but most of them had no idea, no clue of what world they had been born into.
By K.H. Obergfollabout a month ago in Fiction
Last Call Challenge Winners
There were plenty of ringing phones and closing bars in Last Call , but the prompt took us to some unexpected places too. A fading birdsong, a goodbye that doesn't quite get finished, and people who don't suddenly become better versions of themselves just because time is running out. Some held on, some let go, and some missed their chance entirely. That's what made these stories stick.
By Vocal Curation Teamabout a month ago in Resources
Writing Reflections: Echo Cries. Top Story - September 2026.
Happy Saturday once again, my friends! I’m back with another Writing Reflection. This week, I want to focus on a poem that falls under a category that I write quite often: poetry based on mythology. If you have followed my profile for a while, you have probably noticed that I like to write poetry based on Greek and Roman mythology. In particular, I like to write this kind of poetry using variations of the poem style of the nonet, but instead of nine lines, I use twelve or, sometimes, thirteen lines (although this is rare, and usually only because I have miscounted and don’t want to go through the work of rewriting the poem to be twelve lines).
By Stephanie Hoogstad2 months ago in Writers
Foggy Dreams. Top Story - September 2026.
I'm dreaming of something out of reach. Silver like the rhinestone smile of the stars. It's blue around the edges, bruised by intent. Black in the middle, an obsidian ink stain. It presses against my eyelids at midnight. Lingering there like a houseguest low on luck. I'll never be able to capture it like this. There's a crack in my foundation. Someone cut a corner in my construction. They knocked out a beam and laughed. Ah, but I can't forget the silver spit dangling From the lips some fox on the silver screen Waiting in the sliver of silver moonlight For her prey to wander just a little closer. The dream flutters away and I am hollow. I bask in the vacancy blooming in my chest. All signs point to ' full up. move out.' There's never anywhere to go when you dream. It's like navigating the fabric of a sweater. Such an impossible task it turns seductive. You see how the dream draws me away? It pulls me from the silver-toothed devils. Still, the soul wants what it wants, doesn't it? I suppose I must not want to dream, but live.
By Silver Dauxabout a month ago in Poets
The Fig Woman. Top Story - September 2026.
"The concept of fate is weird in that it implies twisted forms of time and causality that are alien to ordinary perception, but it is also eerie in that it raises questions about agency: who or what is the entity that has woven fate?"
By Tyler Clarkabout a month ago in Fiction
Love Struck. Top Story - September 2026.
You toss your pointy hat aside and tell me to come on in You pull out a box of little vials and start mixing stuff in 🧹 A flick of herbs, a dash of toad a pinch of sparkling mite You turn up the blazing heat and lock me in tonight 🧹 Your flowing velvet sleeves fall back your fingers smell of sage You pin me with your neon gaze reciting words right off your page 🧹 Drink deep you whisper in my ear I taste it, sweet and slow right down my ribs, the shivers come Your love spell starts to grow 🧹 Your black cat blinks from off the shelf your bubbling cauldron sighs you bind me with a luminous thread I'm lost inside your eyes 🧹 I don't need a counter spell I love it in your gloom you quickly swept me off my feet with your little witchy broom
By Sara Wilsonabout a month ago in Poets
Through the Eyes of Bill Bixby. Top Story - September 2026.
Link to the Challenge: Thank you for the Challenge, Annie. I may forgive you one day. I had quite a few fears as a child. It is not worth my time listing all of them here, but I count my father, the odd bully, death, and the possibility that I just did not belong to the family I was with as a large part of the list. It was so bad that I reached the point, when we moved to the suburbs, that I could watch any horror film by myself and barely feel any fear (my mother wondered how I could sit in our basement on a Friday night watching some of the best years of Wes Craven and John Carpenter). To me, they were just cartoonish fantasies after everything else I faced and thought of.
By Kendall Defoe about a month ago in Writers
A Lifeless Meadow. Top Story - September 2026.
The early morning dew is seeping into your blue jeans as you open your eyes and realize you have no idea where you are. Last night is a fairly recent memory but you know you left the bar with Molly and James about midnight. Molly was celebrating her 30th birthday with a self-thrown party that James would inevitably pay for. You had been invited since you and Molly were old college roommates and she wanted everyone there to help her cross over into her thirties.
By Barbara Gode Wiles2 months ago in Fiction
Never Forget. Top Story - September 2026.
I remember my mother standing on the front porch after sending my siblings off on the school bus. I remember The Today Show on the TV in the living room. The Today Show was always on in the living room after my mother checked the weather on weekday mornings.
By Kay Husnick2 months ago in Poets
Book Review: "The Uncannily Strange and Brief Life of Amadeo Modigliani" by Velibor Čolić. Top Story - September 2026.
"The world is full of scoundrels" I have no idea why I picked this up in the library, maybe because it just looked interesting, I don't know. At the moment, I have to say my mental health isn't really there and, at the time of writing this in July 2026, I need something like a book on random vignettes to make me feel better a bit. I've been spending the morning reading this short piece of semi-fiction. I call it semi-fiction because I don't know enough about the protagonist to know how much of it is true. Was Amadeo Modigliani a good artist? No, not really. But that doesn't mean his story isn't interesting. He may have died destitute, swapping his paintings for food - but he had an interesting 30 or so years under his belt. However, I don't think it's a good idea to glamorise this kind of ignorance to the self, it can only end badly. Though he was through and through a true bohemian. No money, no life, nothing at all to suggest he was doing alright.
By Annie Kapur2 months ago in Geeks
I'm Sure It's Fine. Top Story - September 2026.
“The Great Wildebeest Migration was not just a spectacle for tourists, and it was not just a time-specific, clockwise loop that the herd animals made through Tanzania for the purposes of obtaining water and fresh grazing grounds. These animals made a year-long journey, hitting certain areas during certain months; they cut down on grass that could lead to the spreading of wildfires, and their massive march brought with them seeds that planted new life in various places. Mother Nature was an awesome creator, and she saw to it that the wildebeest, zebras, and gazelles moved throughout the land at precise times to aid the balance of life… that was, until some jackass got his greedy, stubby fingers on the manifest and fucked the planet in its axis.” - Unknown
By Stephen Kramer Avitabileabout a month ago in Fiction
The Hand Of God. Top Story - September 2026. Content Warning.
"National security is not my thing." "I'm not that informed on national security" Imagine, if you will, you wake up and there is a gun pressed to your temple. No matter how you try, it won’t detach. It’s stuck there like some sick modification grafted by some B-grade freakshow horror movie antagonist. You can feel the steel, smell the residue, you know it’s been fired before, know it's loaded, know what terror it might render, yet you’re still alive.
By Matthew J. Fromm2 months ago in Futurism
The Attic. Top Story - September 2026.
The roof mice watched out of the little dormer window in the attic with growing excitement. Blue balloons were tied to the jolly scarecrow on the front lawn, bobbing gaily in the light fall breeze. A banner hung over the front door welcoming guests and a steady stream of visitors entered the house, each carrying baskets and gift bags in pretty pastel shades. A paunchy man huffed and puffed as he brought in a 5 ft stuffed giraffe wearing a satin bow. An older lady in a lilac two piece wheeled in a stroller festooned in curly ribbons. The mice from the dining room scampered upstairs to boast of all the delectable treats spread out on the table – jello and cakes, all manner of cheeses and cold cuts and fruit salads. They planned to sneak down later that night to see what morsels might remain for them to nibble on. Party days were always feast days for the mice.
By Angel Whelan2 months ago in Fiction
