Top Stories
New stories you'll love, handpicked for you by our team and updated daily.
Symphony of Madness. Top Story - May 2024.
Written for the Randy Barker, Unofficial, 'Prompted #4' Challenge. Details below. ..................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
By Lamar Wiggins2 years ago in Fiction
Old Enough. Top Story - May 2024.
I get up early cause I know Pearl will make biscuits, eggs, and crisp bacon and let me lick the warm salty lard with my fingers from the skillet once it cools off. I watch her go "mmmm, mmmm" and squeeze her lips into a smile. She starts the percolator for Paw-Paw, pours me a big glass of ice cold milk and stands over me saying, "drink it down." Pearl always makes hard things seem easy, not so good days feel okay and I wish she were my Momma. We don't look the same but if she asked me to be her child I'd be the luckiest girl alive. She pulls my fingers out of my mouth, " you get worms now, hear me?" I most definitely don't want worms so I am really trying to stop chewing my nails. Pearl's nails are always clean, trimmed, with a clear, shiny gloss. Her lips are full, ripe, like a fresh dark purple plum. She has fine teeth, big hazel eyes and wears tiny gold studs in each earlobe. I want earrings, but the thought of a needle being pushed though my ear doesn't sound like it's worth the trouble, at least right now. I would like some tap shoes though. Pearl laughs when I tell her about my dancing dreams. She says I have happy feet cause I am wiggling my toes all the time. When Paw-Paw goes out on the porch to smoke his pipe I always show him my latest moves. After breakfast, Pearl starts washing our sheets and says there is a dust bunny under my bed. I don't want to look. I scare myself enough just looking at hobos. Anyway, back to the railroad. Just can't help myself. I don't curse, smoke, steal or commit sins that I know of, but I can tell you right here and right now, hobos teach and preach more than any one body needs. I confess I became on friendly terms with a man named Hank. He'd wave and say, " Hey, May! Keep smilin' kiddo!" and he'd sometimes be laying in the shade right calm when I snuck up to see him. He always looked sad just before he caught sight of me. Soon as my big trap started jabbering he'd change like a chameleon. That is, he'd try to make life seem so fine. I new he was hungry. I started taking biscuits on the days I figured he'd be around and he was always obliged. Just like the song, Mr. Bojangles, I began to show off my dancing moves to cheer ole Hank up. How is it we just know someone isn't happy? He laughed and smiled; in my mind he had a harmonica or some groovy steps he'd show me, but he never did. When the rest of the jumpers, as he referred to his fellow train hopping hobos as, came around he'd shoo me off. He told me in a kind, yet tough way to go on home. Where Hank went I never knew; in my heart I liked to hold it was somewhere much better than the hard ass dirt he slept on, full of God only knows what, and lonesome nights with an empty belly and mosquitos. Back home, I'm hosed down. Pearl gives me a hard stare; I am guessing she is guessing where the heck I've been. I am full of cockleburs, red from the sun. She leaves Paw-Paw and me my favourite, whipped cream and orange jello. I always hug her when she heads back to the place she calls home; I will make sure that this summer I follow Pearl like a cat stalks, curious that is, not aiming to find trouble. Late, when Paw-Paw is loving his heap of second helpings from supper, I ease out from my bedroom and stand right in front of the late night news. Paw-Paw's old Grandpa eyes widen and I start dancing; I pretend to tap dance and point my toes toward the ceiling fan, clap my hands and fall onto the thick, Persian patterned carpet. Paw-Paw laughs with his belly bouncing. I guess for now, summer is getting off to a good start. I slink down the long hallway and slither into bed. I wonder where Hank is now; Memphis, Baton Rouge, New Orleans? By now, hobos, I mean, jumpers, could be anywhere. I say out loud as if I am praying, "Goodnight jumper Hank; goodnight Pearl". I wiggle my toes one more time, roll over toward the moon shining through my window and smile.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Chapters
Fangs of Light. Top Story - May 2024.
This story is a continuation of the Tales of Ezok that began in "The Precipice." Reading this story and its companion "Whispers and Whisps" is not required to enjoy this story, but they will each add layers to the character we see here and I would be remiss to not mention them at the very least.
By Stephen A. Roddewig2 years ago in Fiction
📢 Raise Your Voice Thread: 05/23/2024
Our “Raise Your Voice Threads” are hosted every other Thursday at 12PM ET to offer creators more avenues to uncover exceptional stories on Vocal. As we are continuously searching for fresh creators and inspiring stories, this thread provides an opportunity to exchange and discuss the stories that have moved and motivated us on Vocal.
By Raise Your Voice by Vocal2 years ago in Resources
Good Enough . Top Story - May 2024.
Sweetheart those russet orbs Settling inside your eyes, Those aren't boring as you say. Glint resembles the fireflies Tea, honey and sweet lies. Anxious to capture it's prey. No cigarettes, no champagne, You adorn an enchanting smile To subside the pain. Mi amor, You don't realize your power... You don't realize the honor, In between those thorns, A rose lies, eager for the hour. TO SAY SOMETHING To rip it out of her chest She swears to the devine, "You don't have to be the best." Says to herself Unable to express. She screams out hearing nothing in return, Banging her closed doors to find the echoes creeping through the walls She finds herself empty, Only the crimson that flows Ignites the burn. Tired, The masterpiece sinks down Into the abyss Eyes closed, Pure Bliss... Shedding pearls. Hidden behind the curls... She finds herself murmuring, A whisper that is rough, "Why am I not good enough."
By Sumayya Sharmin 2 years ago in Poets
Munson's Microfiction: My Tears Need A Minute. Top Story - May 2024.
A New Unofficial Challenge Has Arrived 🥳 I'm thrilled to announce my first unofficial challenge sponsorship via Vocal! As of yesterday, 2 May 2024, my Vocal catalogue proudly contains 150 pieces. For me, that's an unimaginable milestone. I've penned 118 pieces since 7 February 2024, and in large part other Vocal writers have encouraged and supported me into posting all sorts of writing, from poetry to horror to fae tales to confessions. The ride so far has been breathtaking!
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Fiction
Golinda and Gallopatrot go to the Emerald Isle. Top Story - May 2024.
The short days were getting longer. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the blue hour created the magic of the darkest phase of twilight. It was time to put Oliver to bed. Yaya felt the muse come alive when he asked for a story.
By Katherine D. Graham2 years ago in Wander
Letter to My Younger Self. Top Story - May 2024.
“Have you ever thought about accepting yourself as you are right here and now? That you are good enough — perfect in fact — just as you are?” ― Hillary Allen, Out and Back: A Runner’s Story of Survival Against All Odds
By Gabriela Trofin-Tatár2 years ago in Humans
Vocal Bonus Leaderboard: 05/22/2024
Welcome to the weekly update of the Leaderboard! We're thrilled to showcase Vocal's most discussed stories, popular picks, and rising stars. Let's dive into this past week's standout contributors and their remarkable achievements.
By Vocal Team2 years ago in Resources
The Price I Pay. Top Story - May 2024. Content Warning.
Here is a link to Randy Baker's Challenge: Prompted #4 *** Joseph It smells like desperation. Actually, it smells like bleach trying to hide the smell of urine, death, and desperation permanented into the studs of my new home. Even as the perky redhead in scrubs pushes me around in my wheelchair, blathering on about the different rooms and the schedule for the week, I can see a man pouring bleach in a bucket, preparing yet another attempt to mask the bits of horrid smell still peeking through.
By Alexandria Stanwyck2 years ago in Fiction
Impatiens for the Soul. Top Story - May 2024.
Content Warning: Mention of mental illness Impatiens for the Soul D. A. Ratliff Looking down at the colorful blooms bursting out of their pots, I remembered when my mother and I first planted these together. A lot of water has flowed since then—water for the impatiens and tears for me.
By D. A. Ratliff2 years ago in Fiction
Unmasking the Winchester Mystery House. Top Story - May 2024.
Hollywood loves capturing our minds and imaginations and showing us visually compelling stories. However, it's important to peel back the layers of truth on cinematic claims that boast "inspired by true events" or "based on a true story." Such is the case with the movie Winchester.
By Crystal A. Wolfe2 years ago in Wander
