Top Stories
New stories you'll love, handpicked for you by our team and updated daily.
Driftwood People. Runner-up in Summer Solstice Challenge. Top Story - July 2024.
Forever they roam Those people lost Without a home Misunderstood Discard like Driftwood Frederick held tight to the thin wood clenched in his fist. The cataracts blinded much of his vision these days, but he wanted to come, had to see for himself the charade to take place on this day, the longest of the year. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he watched his fellow churchgoing townsfolk dismantle the latest camp of homeless from the park. Center Park with its flags still flying around the statue of the Union Soldier from Memorial Day. Where every year the gazebo held the town Christmas tree for carolers and family photos.
By C. H. Richard2 years ago in Fiction
The Longest Day. Top Story - July 2024.
It had taken nearly thirty days and no fewer bribes to reach the small Peruvian village of Ispiju Intiq on the day of the Summer Solstice. The fercho back in Cuzco had been the worst of them, offering up freely a great wealth of information about the small village and the Incan ruins that stood above it, until they’d reached their hotel. Then he’d held their luggage hostage, muttering to himself about piña and begging for God’s forgiveness, while he blocked them from opening the trunk.
By Mary K Brackett2 years ago in Fiction
Hear ye! Hear ye!. Top Story - July 2024.
TL/DR at the bottom, following this symbol "-0-" With a sound like the ringing of tiny bells, a horseman approaches the town. Heads turn as he passes, attention caught by the speed and clamour. A gentle sound, despite the speed of his horse, a sound that calls all passersby to pay attention. To gather round him on the village green and listen to his decree.
By Alexander McEvoy2 years ago in Writers
Bonfires and Herbs. Top Story - July 2024.
There was a betrayer in our midst. We had no way of knowing, for they kept their evil deeds cloaked in deception. Our little village of Hampshire was taken entirely by surprise when they committed their traitorous acts. We had no thoughts to predict that at the time of our celebrating the Sun's ascension to the highest point in the Northern Sky, they would strike with a most diabolical blow. A blow that has undoubtedly left a mark burned deep into the pure white light of our hearts.
By The Invisible Writer2 years ago in Fiction
The Silence That Follows. Top Story - July 2024. Content Warning.
“Silence is not the absence of something but the presence of everything . . . It is the presence of time, undisturbed. It can be felt within the chest. Silence nurtures our nature, our human nature, and lets us know who we are. Left with a more receptive mind and a more attuned ear, we become better listeners not only to nature but to each other. Silence can be carried like embers from a fire. Silence can be found, and silence can find you. Silence can be lost and also recovered. But silence cannot be imagined, although most people think so. To experience the soul-swelling wonder of silence, you must hear it.”― Gordon Hempton
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
When Powers of Sun Magnified. Runner-up in Summer Solstice Challenge. Top Story - July 2024.
After childhood years spent listening to these stories at the feet of Nana Belle, great aunts and great uncles, this part (my part) became both easy and hard. Easy when you grow up to become a writer. Hard knowing the oral traditions steeped in a history vast enough to eclipse the oldest mariner’s voyage are in danger of being lost simply because no one sits still to listen anymore.
By The Dani Writer2 years ago in Fiction
The Solstice in Bad Gumption. Top Story - July 2024.
‘How do we go about it?’ The group of three men and one boy shifted from foot to foot around a bonfire spluttering sparks in the bone chilling drizzle, a few hefty stones sitting amid the flames. They were thinking about all the time it took to get it going in this weather. Someone sniffed, someone coughed. They all felt cold and uneasy standing at the edge of the fields sprawling in front of them in the dusk, with their backs to the dripping birches surrounding the cemetery.
By K.D. Popiel2 years ago in Fiction
The Harvest. Top Story - July 2024.
Koyi wobbled to her shabby wood and straw kaz, holding her machete and an old burlap bag with some yams. Someone had laid another basket in front of the patched up door—rose apples today. They were a bright reddish pink, looking waxy and crisp, just the way she liked them. The culprit knew her very well. Those would be crunchy, juicy and sweet—she could tell—but she gathered all the will she could muster and pushed the basket aside to enter her home. She had already said no repeatedly and would not be taking bribes.
By Lily Séjor2 years ago in Fiction
