Short Story

Lucinda's New Life
Lucinda stepped off the elevator into the parking garage. Her head was still spinning. She wasn’t accustomed to decisions, much less making them under pressure. After taking the envelope, Mr. Stamps had just disappeared. She’d walked out of the conference room into the office, but it was empty, not so much as a sheet of paper on a desk or a sign on the wall.
By L. Lane Bailey5 years ago in Fiction
The Debt Must Be Paid in Full
My chest tightened; it was squeezing my heart to a standstill. Every muscle in my body seized. I held my chin high, and looked serene, just as my mother would have. My steely hair up in a bun on top of my head, just like she wore hers. I look like her from the iridescent scales that run down my midnight colored shoulders and thighs to my fingers, overly long for a human with fingertips more talon than fingernail. Still in moments like these—a very human cold sweat rolls down my back. My breaths are short and shallow enough to remind me that I am not a fierce, powerful half dragon who commands fear and respect. I’m just a lone hatchling of a meager 13 years. For three seasons I’ve been running my family’s inn—the exact number of seasons that have passed since my father died of grief.
By Krystena Lee5 years ago in Fiction
the mourning before.
It was the idle times like these - with the steady sound of chopping carrots, the quiet gurgling of boiling water, the soft plop of potatoes being dropped in, the smoke curling up and vanishing - that I allow myself to remember the night we first met.
By A Baptiste5 years ago in Fiction
The Jacket
Austin stared through the neon-illuminated window at the sparsely filled tables inside. Mostly random assortments of families; overly stressed parents staring into the half-eaten burger clenched in their hands while their children squatted in the plastic booths, stuffing handfuls of cold, overly-salted fries into and around their mouths. A few booths of teenagers, each more interested in the electronic device in their hand than their food or company. One woman sat alone in the purple, plastic swivel chair of a small back corner table. Each individual item was arranged neatly on her tray and she took a bite of one after the other in a meticulously ordered pattern. He watched her, trying to imagine her life story. He decided she lived alone. It didn’t take much to see that. She had tried having roommates, but they didn’t suit her nor she them. She had been engaged once, he believed, but the guy had run off a month before the wedding leaving little more than a brief note stating that it wasn’t her it was him and that he just couldn’t go though with it. She had found out a week later that he had moved in with his business partner, a woman ten years his junior, in the next town over and they were planning on marrying in the fall. Maybe they were having a child together too. Austin decided the woman had tried to move on, going on several dates immediately after with men her mother had set her up with, sons of her bingo friends, but nothing went past a first date. She had always hoped they would call, but they never did. Since then she had kept to herself, spending nights at home with her small dog, a Yorkie, maybe a Shih Tzu, and watching obscure mystery dramas on a television she had purchased at the local thrift shop. He decided it was a sad existence. He decided she would probably kill herself before her next birthday. And, finally, he decided that he would gladly trade places with her.
By Megan Clancy5 years ago in Fiction
The Process of Breaking Free
Time spent in a kitchen is therapy and every task completed is equivalent to an hour on the couch. Bertha is past due for a long session. She plans accordingly and tells her husband they will be having a homemade Italian meal for dinner. He does not listen as usual; either that or he chooses not to respond. There is not much of a difference. Without a word in her direction, he leaves for work, not bothering to make sure the old wooden door is fully closed behind him. Bertha locks herself into her homely retreat and, leaning against the door, closes her eyes. Bertha has been waiting for this solitude all weekend and, at long last, takes her first full breath since Friday.
By Calista Marchand-Nazzaro5 years ago in Fiction
The Unexpected Visitor
Here is a fictional short story about an unexpected visitor with a twist. ... My hands molded the dough. Flour seeped into my fingernails as I turned the dough over. I placed the soft succulent mixture into a tin and put it into the oven before rinsing my hands under warm running water, drying them quickly on a towel. I drank the rest of the red wine from my glass and quickly wiped down the grey marble worktop cleaning the specs of flour off with a damp cloth. The trilling of the doorbell made me jump as my ginger head hit the saucepans hanging from the canopy.
By Denise Larkin5 years ago in Fiction
Lies and Omissions excerpt
This is an excerpt from Lies and Omissions, on Amazon for Kindle (link). It is part of the first chapter. After practice, Nick went home and grabbed a quick shower. He jogged back out to his car and headed to the Dixon house. He hopped out of the car and walked to the door. When he knocked, Sharon, Nicole’s mom, answered the door. She ushered him in and let him know that Nicole would be down in just a minute.
By L. Lane Bailey5 years ago in Fiction
The End of Us
*TW: occurrence of miscarriage “This isn’t going to work,” I say, staring at the lanes of traffic in front of us. The harsh drone of the spinning cement mixer on our truck drowns out the bustling city noise and the panic in my head. I’ve been meaning to say it for days, weeks maybe. Mitch lets out a sigh.
By Megan Clancy5 years ago in Fiction
They Whispered of Mangoes
"Celeste..." Yes, I hear you. Where are you? The alabaster sand is hot, like the moment you pull out laundry from the dryer—that snuggling, soothing warmth. The sand is so soft that it feels like silk against my soles. Free of grit and cigarette butts—pristine.
By Meredith Bell5 years ago in Fiction
The Top Five Reasons Your Date Was A Disaster
1. You That’s right. You. Because you went ahead and joined a dating site for the first time, knowing full well that you’ve spent years telling your friends how much better it is to meet people in person — through work, clubs, classes, bars. But you did it. You did it because you needed to face the fact that this theory has been failing you. Everyone you meet at work or in bars seems to be uninterested or taken. And clubs and classes are just no longer something that is in your life. Maybe you needed a more direct approach.
By Owen Schaefer5 years ago in Fiction
Unfixable
She says, “I’m pregnant.” He had been working in the garage, cleaning the drawers of his toolbox. Wrenches and drill bits and a hammer that had been his uncle’s, given to him on the day his father passed away, lay around him, caked in the dust of the far back corner of the garage where his toolbox has sat, unattended, for months. Maybe years. But yesterday, when the handle of the silverware drawer had become just a little too loose he had decided to fix it, and so found himself faced with the task of finding the appropriate tool within the mess of this box. But, while the drawer handle in the kitchen remained just slightly loose, he had set out on the journey to clean out and reorganize the box. And it is at the point that he has reached the far back corner of the bottom section and rubbed out the last little oily spot that she says, “I’m pregnant”. He pauses, first looking at his warped reflection in the polished chrome handle and then up at her. The glow of the yellow garage light casts pale shadows across her face. He searches her eyes for a clue as to what his reaction is supposed to be and comes up blank.
By Megan Clancy5 years ago in Fiction
Free to Roam
Collin stares out at the sea, transfixed by the transition taking place before him. Half of what he can see is stormy, choppy, and clear of ships, while the other is still bright and various ships crowd the view as they race to shore. Over them, blue skies dotted with wispy clouds beckon safety. One cloud looks like a sailed ship, following the fleet inland. He watches as it passes behind the distant lighthouse, unsurprised as the storm front reaches him with the first wind-born raindrops. His attention turns to the black clouds gathering above him, with lightning flashing miles off and booming thunder drawing near. Beside him, his hosts' horse begins to show signs of distress.
By Megan Baker (Left Vocal in 2023)5 years ago in Fiction