Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Fiction.

Claiming Mass Devotion
Sakura Kanagawa was the reason Yuzuko remained sane. She visited her husband’s grave every morning. Sakura now insisted in joining her for emotional support. Yuzuko had traumatic visions of broken robots and blood. They lingered in her nightmares and her thoughts. The guilt that she destroyed the robots her family empire had worked so hard to protect was like a tattoo.
By Chloe Gilholy5 years ago in Fiction
How I Got A Girl's Name
After four decades, I have come to terms with it. I have a girl’s name. I spent much of my childhood trying to figure out two things:
By Stacey Roberts5 years ago in Fiction
Table for Three
We gathered ourselves just beyond the single-doored entrance of the restaurant, ushered in under the harsh confluence of the dark and the cold that titled that ordinary winter evening. Or, perhaps, not so ordinary when considered in light of the occasion that brought us there that night. Ms. Sabel, our close friend of two decades, had just turned twenty-seven, and Sira and I, harbouring a semblance of appreciation and respect for social ceremony, had insisted on our taking her to dinner to celebrate.
By Brandon Lever5 years ago in Fiction
The Little Black Book
The car drove by way too fast, and the object thrown from the window landed on the sidewalk ahead of her. Her instinct was to keep walking and pretend she did not notice. But...she was going to pass it, so she may as well see what it was.
By Lynn Jordan5 years ago in Fiction
Served Chilled
Food. That's all I could think about. My stomach audibly cried for me to eat something, anything. A man at the other end of the car carried an apple, half rotten. My face twisted at the sight of such disgusting food. I was already failing at attracting attention as I rocked back and forth. Pulling my sweater closer around me, I took the time to scan the train car.
By Kaitlyn Therese Bouchard5 years ago in Fiction
THE SPORTS GUY CHRONICLES
Chapter One: Meet "THE SPORTS GUY" Hello, I am "THE SPORTS GUY". Obviously, as "THE SPORTS GUY, I, of all people KNOW my sports stuff. Ever since after my third year of college athletics, I have been a freelance sportswriter. That mostly means that I have complete control of my own time. That is right youth, I have ALL day, 7 days a week to do whatever I want. Well, if you have ever met me, or read any of my stuff, then you would know what I love to do most. SPORTS. COMPETITION. GREATNESS. The one sport that I LOVE most is basketball, when I became aged 15, I had to decide which ONE sport I would DOMINATE, and I chose basketball. 15 is a typical age for a multi-sport athlete to choose one sport (at least trim down to 2 or 3 sports). It is just a part of life. To be great you must focus, not to mention high school athletics and beyond become VERY DEMANDING of elite athletes. Trimming down on sports can be an important safety precaution for an athlete who wishes to have a long successful career. After all, MOST pro athletes only play one professional sport. (Pay close attention to the word most. That does not mean ALL, professionals play only one sport. There have been special athletes that could play two and even THREE professional sports in their athletic careers.)
By Elijah Davis5 years ago in Fiction
One Hundred and Fifty Beats
All I can think about is the way the stubble on my legs is catching on the fabric of the chair I am sitting in. Or my feet, sticking slightly to the cold and clammy floor of my home. The cool air passing behind my neck and raising goosebumps on my arms. The way the sun, red and hot and slowly setting through my window, is reflecting off of a mirror in the cover of the book my daughter is reading at just the right angle to cover my vision with angry dots that multiply when I blink. I can look directly at her, but I cannot see her through the white hot replicas of the sun in my vision. I can look directly at her, but I cannot see her.
By Victoria Mizel5 years ago in Fiction
The Thomas Code
Chapter 1 The Year- 1889 A baby born, named Thomas Prescott Jr, in the rugged backwoods of Western Virginia, would change the world. A log cabin with its dirt floor and weeping walls contained the sounds of the unattended birth process.
By J. S. Wade5 years ago in Fiction
Doomsday Diary Challenge
As I walked down the old, abandoned street, I realized I could barely remember what it looked like before the carnage, the bombings, before it all went to hell. To the right of me was the park. The beautiful rhododendrons would be in full bloom and the breeze would blow the petals across the grass. Now, in their place, were broken trees, swing sets ripped from their places in the ground, old picnic tables torn and strewn about. The other side of the street was the Farmers Market. Rubble and turned over cars littered the street that once buzzed with electricity. Merchants selling their wares and customers bartering for the newest in organic vegetables and fried food. I have been asked the question several times since the end. Where was I when someone pushed the button. I was here with my family. We were sitting in the park munching on hotdogs and waiting for next band to come out on stage. Suddenly there was a loud “BOOM” and we saw something hit the Interstate bridge. Then the chaos seemed to take a movement like a slow-motion picture. We watched the freeway bridge, and its cars slowly snap each cable support and slide into the cold river.
By Lori Best5 years ago in Fiction
Dear Diary
“Dear Diary, The end was sudden, and bleak. Survivors of the end were left scrambling for resources as governments, leaderships, corporations’ etcetera had crumbled. People had to fend for themselves, and it turned ugly. With neighbour against neighbour, no sense of unity survived or occurred. Those first few days tempers flamed, fights occurred, fires blazed. But no one worked together, to solve the biggest crisis at hand: what to do?
By Jay5 years ago in Fiction
Too Much Horror
The wine arrives in small barrels that bang down the chute. It’s red. They only drink red, so they only sell it, and as employees we have the opportunity to buy it, bottled and heavily discounted, as we leave our shift.
By Heather Ewings5 years ago in Fiction
Prometheus and Armageddon
It was when we entered through the fourth door that we found floating in the liquid space an immense stone, almost spherical, flattened on the sides, with an igneous center still alive.
By Juan Laborde5 years ago in Fiction