Horror
The House My Social Anxiety Built. Top Story - October 2021.
This was always her favorite part of the day. The moment just before sunrise. Ava sat on the sofa on the back porch, looking out over the beach with her coffee in hand, and watched as the stars faded from view. She loved watching how the blackness of the night sky folded back, revealing a clear, bright, blue sky in its place. She listened as the world came to life around her. The cars began to bustle— children being driven to school and people hurrying off to work— and families began flocking to the beach.
By Bree Alexander (she/her)4 years ago in Fiction
Age of Haunting
Kara cradled the crossbow gently across her lap. The night was quiet, as were all nights in Triskelon. No cricket dared attempt a mating call, no firefly dared reveal its presence. To be honest, after a century it was a question if they even lived after a century of living breathing nightmares.
By Christopher Craver4 years ago in Fiction
Fishing trip
It's midday and the sun is high in the sky. I'm running after my dad who is walking briskly to the lake. He is carrying all our fishing gear. I dropped our poles by the truck, and he didn't trust me to carry them after that. I'm always a disappointment. I don't know why he even wanted me to go on this fishing trip. We are out in the middle of nowhere in the heat with nothing but our truck, fishing gear, and a couple blankets. What a miserable few days are ahead of us. I don’t eat fish, much less have to survive on those nasty wriggling little creatures. What does he truly expect from me? I'm not my brother, I don't do nature. I guess he at least is trying so I should stop my complaining. Maybe mom is right and I'm an ungrateful little shit. She didn't know I was listening when she said it but it's hard not to overhear their arguments in our two-bedroom apartment. I can't wait for school to start so I can escape that toxic shithole. Most kids my age dread the beginning of school, but I can't wait to go back. Anything that gets me out of hell house is a blessing in my eyes.
By Lauren Horn4 years ago in Fiction
Constance
Constance By V. Rahman There was a way the water had with me, a kind of coveting that could bear no name, for its density surged past the scope of measurability. You could call that love, or at least that's how I acquainted myself with the word. Here, upon the indigo liquid that I came out to every single dawn, my thoughts were harvested. My mind ramified in spreading roots of serpentine genius, born from the womb of my deliverer. That womb, which contained the amalgamation of her and I, lived on through this pool of peace. Of saccharine memories.
By Victor Rahman4 years ago in Fiction
GHOSTS of LOCUST FORK
GHOSTS of LOCUST FORK Gusts of wind whipped through the trees shaking the nearly barren branches roughly sending a sudden shower of large rain drops downward. The cool fall air briskly made its way across the southern state of Alabama. Orange, gold, red, and brown leaves lay scattered all over the forest floor. A passing torrential storm had beaten the leaves from the branches they once clung too. Early October set the forest ablaze with the fiery glow of many autumn spectacles. Squirrels scurried under foot as we continued walking the path toward the river. Oh, how the water was always so soothing with air so crisp and sweet no matter the time of year.
By Belinda Grissam4 years ago in Fiction
Lookout Lodge
Gabin and Marlo, I am wondering if you two would be willing to help out after school this week. If you can, I would pay you each an extra $100 per day to clean some lodges after school. I was hoping you tow could do the following: Sunday (10.31.21) after school clean Lookout Lodge Monday (11.1.21) after school clean Paradise Falls We would pay you your normal hourly rate and then I would add $100 for each of you each day. Please let me know if it is possible. You could come here and get supplies and vehicle.
By Gina Gidaro 4 years ago in Fiction
The Blank Page
There’s nothing writers fear more than the blank page. At least that’s what I’ve always heard. I wouldn’t say it’s all that accurate. Sure, the blank page sucks. Its bare whiteness taunting, devoid of information, sucking out creativity by its utter emptiness. But there are far worse things than not knowing what to write.
By Lauren Triola4 years ago in Fiction
Beside Still Waters
Muddy and bloody he stood beside still waters. In his right hand there was a knife. The blade was called Tongue and it shimmered in the starless night. It spoke words both beautiful and terrible. The hilt was made of bone. Warm bone. Fresh bone. Harvested bone. The lamb that was slain lay splayed out on the wet earth and iron lingered in the stale air.
By Bradley Eidson4 years ago in Fiction
"Thanks for the Ride Lady!"
They had enjoyed the day, it had been years since any of them had been in contact. What a great idea Max and Amy had when they decided to host a "Paint the House Bar-b-Que!" They never expected the turnout would be this good. There must have been forty old friends and schoolmates who showed up to help put the finishing touches on the fixer-upper they had purchased last year.
By Pamela Walsh-Holte4 years ago in Fiction
