Short Story

The Necessary Documentation
🎺🏛️🌬️🪶📋 We had been briefed a week before Windswept's annual, must-have parade. Principals had briefed us teachers; there was a mass issuance of consent forms.
By Michelle Liew Tsui-Linabout an hour ago in Fiction
The Debt of The Extraordinary
Thanatos was chained by Sisyphus. A moment of curiosity with a secret aim led to death having no power over humanity. Sisyphus made it so. But this story is what the myth gets wrong.
By Caitlin Charltonabout an hour ago in Fiction
The Wind at My Window
The wind always finds a way. It tapped gently at my window that morning, soft as a hesitant knock. I paused, pen hovering over my journal, and listened. There was no urgency in its rhythm, only a persistent insistence—as if it carried a question meant for me alone. I shivered and pulled my sweater tighter around my shoulders, the room’s dim light feeling suddenly inadequate against the chill that pressed against the glass.
By Luna Vaniabout 2 hours ago in Fiction
Spring Sacrifice
The woods of Hollow Glen were quiet, save for the crunch of dead leaves underfoot. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, and the last rays of sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting long, eerie shadows. The group of teenagers—Ellie, Jake, Sarah, and Ryan—had ventured there on a dare. Rumors of strange happenings in the forest around Easter had been passed down for years, but none of them believed in ghost stories.
By V-Ink Storiesabout 3 hours ago in Fiction
Eggshells
Margaret Whitlock was known as the best artist in the sleepy town of Greystone. Her specialty was Easter egg sculptures—delicate, intricate creations painted with painstaking detail. Each egg was a marvel, depicting pastoral scenes, mythical creatures, and swirling patterns so fine they seemed almost alive. Every Easter, people from all over flocked to her gallery to admire and buy her work.
By V-Ink Storiesabout 3 hours ago in Fiction
More Orangutans
JOHN Chapman rode north on his alpaca. This was long before he acquired the alias, ‘Appleseed’, mind you. (English puritans would come to bastardize his exploits, associating them with those of copycat New England phil-apple-ists from years later, who sought to piggyback on his fame. They would say he had a horse, not an alpaca. They would say he walked barefoot beside this horse, because he did not wish to harm it. All untrue.)
By Noah Husbandabout 8 hours ago in Fiction
The Spot
No one blinked. As they gathered by the image processor, taking time to adjust all of their eye sockets and each dial and module on the machine, they simply stared and stared at what they were looking at. No one thought to make a mental note of this; no one thought that their psychic connection could handle this. But there it was and they had to process it.
By Kendall Defoe about 10 hours ago in Fiction
What Am I Missing?
Day 1 My mission is simple, to learn about humans by becoming one. They’ve got a written history, but I’d rather go in fresh and improvise. I’ve been doing this a long time and consider myself an expert at blending in. Confidence is the key. If you just look like you know what you’re doing, it’s generally accepted.
By Leslie Writesabout 10 hours ago in Fiction
It Is Only The Beginning
All my years on this planet, and who would have thought that I could get dementia? I have been a professor, teaching others my entire life, and now I may have Lewy Body Dementia.
By Denise E Lindquistabout 10 hours ago in Fiction
The Silence
Danny used to feel it like weight. Not heavy, but solid, like someone standing behind him in a dark room, not threatening, just present, close enough that if he turned around fast enough he might catch a glimpse. The voice had never been audible. It was clearer than that. It landed inside him fully formed, without effort. Not imagination. Not guessing. Words that carried authority. Stay in faith. I will bring it to pass. Do you trust Me. Those moments had come when life was tight, when invoices went unpaid, when the repair shop sat quiet for hours longer than it should have, when fear crept in through the cracks at night. The words steadied him, not because they fixed anything instantly, but because they made the chaos feel contained.
By Joey Rainesabout 22 hours ago in Fiction
THE NIGHT SHE FELL IN LOVE WITH THE MONSTER
She first noticed him on the night the moon looked wrong. Too bright. Too close. Like it was watching. He stood at the edge of the forest, half hidden by shadows, eyes reflecting silver light. Not threatening. Not welcoming. Just waiting. Something about him felt ancient, as if he had been standing there long before she arrived and would remain long after she left.
By S.A Charlesabout 24 hours ago in Fiction
THE NIGHT HE CHOSE HER
The first howl cut through the village like a blade. It was not loud, but it was close. Close enough to make windows tremble. Close enough to wake something ancient inside the forest and something fearful inside every human heart.
By S.A Charlesa day ago in Fiction