Microfiction
The Precipice Calls
My outstretched arms felt like failing vines as I held on for dear life. I tried to avoid looking down, but the pull of the descent was too much. I could hear it talking to me, telling me in grotesque detail of the various victims of death by misadventure it had caused.
By Paul Stewart6 months ago in Fiction
School Assembly
Attention teachers and students! Welcome back to Our Lady of Our Perpetual Wanting! I hope that your summer break was restful, comfortable and wonderful, and that you can forget about the unfortunate incidents of the previous semester. Over the summer, the gym was restored to its previous condition, along with warnings about the number of people allowed to use the ropes, handle the pummel horses, and do the hokey-pokey during Daylight Saving Hours. That's what it's all about... Ha, ha. Apologies. I am sure that the AV club would have enjoyed that joke if they were still with us. Amen.
By Kendall Defoe 6 months ago in Fiction
The Forest of the Forgotten
Amnity sat on the old tree stump. Her face was gentle and fair against the light blue and orange hue that engulfed the early morning hours surrounding her friendly metaphysical shop when I came walking up. Amnity had her nose deep in her white oak magic book with the golden-rimmed sheets of paper, and she was reading from it calmly. Crickets broke the silence, but not her attention as she read.
By Parsley Rose 6 months ago in Fiction
The Message Written in the Sky
It was a quiet night, and the world seemed to hold its breath under a canopy of stars. Ali, a 22-year-old astronomy student, sat cross-legged on the rooftop of his modest house, his telescope angled toward the sky like a silent sentinel. Since childhood, he had been fascinated by the stars, often wondering if they were more than just glowing specks of gas suspended in an infinite void. But tonight, the stars had something unusual to share.
By Aman Ullah6 months ago in Fiction
The Invisible Friend
The Invisible Friend My grandmother, Mae, was the town eccentric. While other widows played bridge or gardened, she held elaborate tea parties on her sun-drenched porch for one. There were always two china cups, two slices of lemon cake, and two chairs. She’d chat amiably with the empty air, her laughter tinkling like wind chimes. The town smiled indulgently. “Poor old Mae and her invisible friend,” they’d say.
By Habibullah6 months ago in Fiction
