Top Stories
New stories you'll love, handpicked for you by our team and updated daily.
Take a Whiff of October. Top Story - October 2026.
It’s the smell that hits you first Something charred, something burnt Pumpkin spiced alcohol Party kids getting turnt The township of October Has many alleys, many corners Every nook and every cranny Has a different weeping mourner
By Stephen Kramer Avitabile22 days ago in Poets
My Amber Place. Top Story - October 2026.
I’m going to October, my amber place, where life unfolds in richly hued shades. The sun is dim in the morning fog mountain peaks invisible The air is fresh and damp, infused with a salty sea fragrance mixed with a woody, damp, and musty scent of October leaves Afternoon sun burns off the chill and mist Sparrows sing and tussle among the shrubs below The large Flicker who calls as he bobs his head and tail He shouts that October is here, telling the world he is ready. Tree frogs croak in the afternoon sun, their final hurrah before They must hibernate for colder months Join me in my amber room, let’s look at the russet, umber, and burgundy fingers, now fatigued and dropping down to their ankles and toes. Walk with me to see the sun’s beams glinting on sunshine-colored trees, peeking through branches and ricocheting to porch pumpkins and butter chrysanthemums that are growing next to the Ghouls that stand in yards, waiting for night to light them up, so that they can roar at walkers, and charm drivers “Charm?” you say – “A matter of opinion.” “Yes.” Taller and scarier, pumpkin head or scarecrow, Skeletons and aliens, all competing to do it better. “We could bob for apples on the front lawn. Over there is a big vat of water, with yellow and red floaters. And the prize, a caramel-coated apple rolled in nuts.” “NOOOO,” shouts the twelve-foot ghoul and reaches out a hand “The apples are mine, from a friend.” We turn to look where his bony finger points, and see a bare tree that gave fruit to the kids on the street while letting the bandit raccoons of the night pick a few. I hope you enjoyed the tour of my amber place, the russet-gold October of falling leaves and slumbering trees.
By Andrea Corwin 22 days ago in Poets
Breathing. Top Story - October 2026.
Marilee sang along with the song on the radio as she drove into town. She was in an unusually good mood, despite having to make a last-minute trip because the eggs she had were rotten. Maybe it was because she was still excited to make peanut butter cookies? Or that she needed to get extra forks anyway? Maybe it was because it was a beautiful day and she had gotten out of bed at a decent time? Or that traffic wasn’t bad at all?
By Rebecca Patton23 days ago in Horror
Come Wednesday. Top Story - October 2026. Content Warning.
Come Wednesday, might this window view be brighter Nor'easter turbulence Dumps another round of rain Nature's unsettled womb; it's personal Forehead to pane Whipping wind pulls my chest tighter Tears Midstream drought Raw, irritated, swollen, moisture-stripped eyes Awkward silence Oriel reflection; side view Less than a bump Side-eyed empty cradle Waiting for the arrival of grace Recalling when hope didn't deliver Fear: am I unable Coastal collision colors corneas clay Come Wednesday, might this window view be clearer Weather satellite; comma-shaped storm Counterclockwise If I could go back Would I heed the forecast Connect one thing to the next Outline probabilities Foretell context Empty clothesline flaps in the wind Lawn chair flips across the yard Off-season treason Body overthrows heart Head to pane Matrix mindful— pear-shaped lies Come Wednesday, might this window view be forgiven Sun's reclamation Will Gaia apologize to the garden Or ask her to act as if nothing ever happened Eroded Goldenrod Corroded potted Chrysanthemums Bruising outlook Landscape stamp on my heart Open screen; hand out Fertility prayers Mother-wuthered seeds palm mitted Heart's black and blue Nature's embryotic reassignment Personal Anemochory; biological memory Oh, when will yellow and purple finally make green Come Wednesday, might this window view look brighter Terra, don't clap back to my thunder I've seen it earlier Same date, different year Kindly Precipitation prelude positive prognosis May open heavens bless me So I am not repulsed by the gods Because I've been here before Riding Climate carousel Exit retrospect Function missing extra pulse Heartbeat hymns Short window; today is Sunday Appointment. Anniversary Birth-death-one breath Window view blues Erratic forecast Three days and waiting What will happen come Wednesday
By Marilyn Glover26 days ago in Poets
It’s Not Me It’s Him. Top Story - October 2026.
The ever-changing scenery scrolls by your drowsy eyes as you gaze out a window. The gentle rocking from side to side of the train carriage only adds to the overall listlessness your body is feeling. Travelling by train is an unusual experience for you, only occurring when your journeys take you across the pond. These trips have become more frequent as the political climate continues to change around the globe, and your particular skill set is in greater demand.
By Mark Gagnon24 days ago in Fiction
Who?. Top Story - October 2026.
Content note: this story deals with domestic abuse and thoughts of suicide. …Sobbing. "Mother, please help me!" A loud, drunken voice yelled, "She is not going to help you; she knows better!" The young man looked at his mother with desperate tears in his eyes, wanting her protection. She stood by the sink, tugging her sleeve down over the purple bruise on her wrist, the way she always did. They shared a moment's stare, looking directly into each other's eyes, into each other's souls. Her lip trembled. For a second, he thought she would speak. The mother broke into tears and hung her head. Then the back of his stepfather's hand caught him across the jaw. A chair crashed to the floor beside him, and the kitchen spun as the young man's vision went blurry. He tasted blood. His stepfather was looking down on him, laughing, and said, "You are as worthless as she is; why don't you do us all a favor and end it."
By Dr. George Shannon Ferguson25 days ago in Humans
Green Onions. Top Story - October 2026.
The last one. Number 50! The reason I chose 50 is part of my ongoing art project, #1in50 . In the UK, that is the number of people living with bipolar disorder. It is a sterile, clinical statistic fitting neatly onto medical charts and mental health factsheets.
By Alyson Smith 26 days ago in Poets
The Extra Mile. Top Story - October 2026.
You get up on a day that really should be left alone but what choice do you have? That's just life, isn't it? Getting out from under the covers when all you really want to do is huddle down and hide? How much easier that would be.
By Rachel Deeming25 days ago in Fiction
Yes, Mrs. Halloway. Top Story - October 2026.
Leah loved being a housekeeper, even if no one really knew what she did. Normal people didn’t hire her; her services were for clients that were too rich to care about anything beyond their daily 5:30 p.m. martinis. Everyone else assumed she was either a maid, an interior decorator, or a glorified housewife. At times, she felt like all three.
By Caitlin Mitchell26 days ago in Horror
SMART Friendship. Top Story - October 2026.
Work and life were one for Sylvia. The assertive Personnel Manager had the same inane habits in person. She believed precision-clinical precision- solved problems: structured feedback, precise documentation and SMART — specific, measurable, achievable, relevant and time-bound outcomes.
By Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin25 days ago in Fiction
