Top Stories
New stories you'll love, handpicked for you by our team and updated daily.
The Archer. Top Story - January 2025.
His stomach growled. A gentle rain broke on the forest green canopy and dripped down his matching green hood. He found the gentle pitter patter of rain soothing. Jahn had complained it was a terrible day for an ambush, but what did that little man know?
By Matthew J. Fromm2 years ago in Fiction
The End of The Tour (2015). Top Story - January 2025.
I have a confession to make: I was yesterday years old when I discovered David Foster Wallace and his significance as a contemporary American writer. I'll turn 55 in a couple of weeks. I know, it's embarrassing. My only excuse is that I lived half of my life in the Soviet and post-Soviet cultures.
By Lana V Lynx2 years ago in Geeks
Work in Progress. Top Story - January 2025.
Chloë and Luca spent the rest of that Thanksgiving weekend evening on the dance floor and, to Chloë’s absolute delight, exchanged telephone numbers and addresses for future correspondence. Chloë had always been a prolific letter writer, but she promised herself she would pace her communication with him. For his part, Luca wasn’t much for the written form, but he had her phone number and fully planned for a get-together when Chloë was back at university. He knew she lived with her parents so he’d have to play it cool, but he was taken – finally, Chloë thought – with her and planned to see her often, if that was something she’d want. He hoped that, on his return to university the following year, they would build on their budding relationship.
By Marie McGrath2 years ago in Chapters
My oddest visit to a used bookstore. Top Story - January 2025.
I remember that summer well. It was 2020, a time when nothing was normal and doing anything outside your house felt rebellious. The masks shoved into pockets, ready to be put on at a moment's notice. The odd respect for personal space that everyone had, which is literally the only thing I miss about that time, and the atmosphere of discord, isolation, and fear.
By Jessica Freeborn2 years ago in BookClub
Vampire Flu. Top Story - January 2025.
Man flu is tough when you're a vampire. Did you think the undead can't get ill? Ha. Think again. Why not? On what logic are you basing that assumption? Surely all he has to do is feed on someone who's unwell, and he could catch what they have, no? Immortality doesn't make you impervious to suffering. It just means you suffer longer. And probably alone, to boot. Picture him, now: shuddering in his crypt, bits of tissue stuck up his pointed nose, which is pinched and pink. Misery is carved around his ancient eyes, and lethargy weighs on his limbs. A cold is worse for a vampire, in some ways, than it is for a mortal man. Look at it this way: a vampire is known for his irresistable charm. Nobody is suave when they sneeze. The common cold, then, basically threatens his entire identity. Can he tolerate human remedies, like hot honey and lemon drinks, chicken noodle soup, and over the counter medicines? I hardly think so. His crypt is dank and chilly. Hardly conducive to his recovery. He considers hunting, entering a human house and making good use of their blankets and fluffy slippers... but they will never invite him in, will they? They won't want to catch what he's got. So he shuffles about in the dark, aching all over. He clutches his cape close, shivering, fangs chattering. Moments later, he casts it away, sweating. Feeling hungry, thirsty, and terribly sorry for himself. A nice long hot draught from a freshly Lemsipped victim would be just the ticket. He thinks of it, how he would corner a victim, compel them to go into a chemist and then... Wait, don't you need hot water? How long would be the optimum amount of time to wait before biting? He scowls, knowing that nobody on the Vampyr Council will be looking into this. In any case, it all feels like such a lot of effort, and he feels completely drained right now. He wishes, at times like these, that he'd got around to getting himself a pet human. A companion. Human familiars were all the rage for a while, but the risk of exposure means there's a lot of red tape, and frankly, he could just never be bothered. He shambles back to his coffin, resolving to Sleep until the bug is out of his system.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Look Up. Top Story - January 2025.
On a rarely perfect night, my father woke me with a whispered, “let’s look at the stars.” So, I stood next to him, as he lined up my grandfather’s old telescope, yawning and pulling my thick blanket close around my shoulders. Despite the light pollution from the city, in the early hours of the morning, when the city lights dimmed, the stars were beautiful.
By Alexander McEvoy2 years ago in Fiction
Puzzzle. Top Story - January 2025.
The package arrived on her doorstep sometime in the night, and was waiting on the step when she opened the door to take Taco, her late husband’s tiny dog, out for a walk. It was wrapped in brown paper, and bore her first name, Amelia. No last name. And no return address.
By Laura DePace2 years ago in Fiction
Where Tears Meet the Breath of Alcohol. Top Story - January 2025.
They always tried to leave for school early to reach the chestnut trees before the pigs did. Chestnuts were highly valued at school, especially by the fifth lesson, when everyone’s stomachs were rumbling. Sam, Ted’s next-door neighbor who had just moved to the countryside and was unfamiliar with rural life (something Ted often took advantage of), quickly became obsessed with Ted. Sam’s parents said that when he had a fever, he rambled about Ted being his only friend.
By Tedo Sharadenidze2 years ago in Fiction
Dear God, Let Me Be Angry. Top Story - January 2025.
I used to wake up every day and thank my antidepressants for keeping me from getting angry. "The antidepressants keep you at a baseline," the first boy I fell in love with once told me. "They are mostly there to keep you from having high highs and low lows. They will keep you stable."
By Maggie Elizabeth 2 years ago in Psyche
Picture This. Top Story - January 2025.
Sometimes I wonder if they’re ever going to leave. It doesn’t feel like it. There’s always at least five or six of them dillydallying in front of the bulletproof glass, cameras in hand, ignoring the announcement that the museum’s closing. 'Just one more photo' they whine, or 'I’m going to remember this moment forever', something annoying like that. I never return their smiles, just jangle my keys and herd them towards the exit.
By Caroline Craven2 years ago in Art
