Top Stories

Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.

Grandma Could Not Find Her Glasses
“Dear, could you help me find my glasses? I cannot sew or read without it.”, my sweet old granny asked me. “Certainly, Grandma. Where did you last used it?” I asked my grandmother.
By Mariann Carroll2 years ago in Fiction
Discarded, Without Purpose. Content Warning.
Memories are fickle things it seems for humans at the best of times, so you can only imagine how unreliable they are for something like me.
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
The Wall
He sat motionless as the wind gracefully blew the tumbleweed across the pavement. A harmonious sense of calm filled his once-tormented heart.
By Raven Black2 years ago in Fiction
Magus Murus
If walls could talk within the perceivable human auditory range, history would not be doomed to repeat itself. I could have warned you, shown you the errors of your meat sack ways. I could have saved you from your premature mortal coil.
By Holly Draper3 years ago in Fiction
These Tired Sides
Wreathed in darkness, I stand, holding back the destruction crawling within. I should be clear: this is not a metaphor. My sole purpose in this world is to hold what the creators choose. It could have been anything: oil, paint, chemicals.
By Stephen A. Roddewig3 months ago in Fiction
Girls’ Night Out
Girls’ night out! I hear it all the time, but rarely have I been fortunate enough to enjoy it with my sister. I nudge her with excitement, and we clench the opportunity. Usually, when we hear those three words, our attendance is often overlooked. Tonight, everything changes with the agenda, including dinner and dancing. Dancing, the honey to a tea of nostalgia. Occasionally, we are invited to dinner. After all, our exquisite appearance matches perfectly with a fancy five-star restaurant. Our sparkling petit bodies shimmer like a red ruby. But, dancing was taboo. The last dance adventure was months ago, almost leading to our separation by the excitement it conjured. Despite the past hazard, several drinks at dinner later, we are enfolded by a mass of people and booming music in the club. Everyone is dancing in-sync to the latest hip/hop trap beat compiled with electronic dance music. As the four by four measured time signature strikes the ear, I feel every strand of hair moving rhythmically against my body. Alcoholic euphoria fills the atmosphere, and I become intoxicated by the ambience. Every jerky bob begins to weaken my grip on my safety, raising the level of danger with every intensified beat drop. Gradually, black out from the melodic menacing machine, thrusted down into a drunken stupor.
By Iris Harris2 years ago in Fiction
The Mantra
In the early morning of February 11th, a whisper is barely audible above the dull sound of a fog horn. A monk sits, quietly tracing spirals with his finger in the piles of ground glass in front of him. The mantra he chants would leave anyone else tongue-tied, but he recites it with such melody that it sounds like a song. In his other hand, he holds an obelisk, that begins to glow after the tenth recitation of the mantra.
By Mollie Narutovics2 years ago in Fiction
At the Altar
It was probably for the best I had trailed behind the lectern, where he dared not cross. Disgruntled as he was, a decade of catholic school dies hard. Even if you’re only there because the public schools suck. Even if you’re only there because the tuition isn’t too high and the entrance exam is, really, pretty easy. Even if you caught your dad rolling his eyes during the family welcome mass and saw your mom kick him playfully under the pew and suppress a smile. It was probably for the best he had taken one or two or five of me before he dropped to his knees and I tumbled to the ground. It made me a little harder to find. A little harder to pick apart: to crush up and devour. A little harder for me to see.
By G2 years ago in Fiction
Ascending
This was written for Mackenzie Davis' Ekphrastic Challenge (Below) based on the allocated photo (above, "Clouds in a blue sky in Settle, by Mike Singleton).
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Fiction
Growing
It was well after 8AM, but Lola could hardly tell. All that crossed through the blinds was a weak, grayish light. In her old apartment, light poured in through her tall windows as soon as the sun rose. Not here, in a ground-floor apartment where all the windows faced a neighboring building.
By Suze Kay2 years ago in Fiction
Fatally Unorganized
I remember the day my owner, Rachel, got the bag that I’m stuck lying in. It was a Monday afternoon at the town center mall. The luxury purse store was having a deal on last season’s leftovers. There was one on display that she couldn’t leave without, and it was thirty percent off the original price of one-hundred and sixty pounds. The woman only had two-hundred bangers to her name, but it still sounded like a great idea for a wannabe like her that was debatably insane. She was always craving nice things, but her bank account was longing for a more budget friendly lifestyle.
By RP2 years ago in Fiction
"THE MOONBEAM CAFE LOVE". Content Warning.
This is a fictional story. All characters are fictional. This is a creation from the author, Vicki Lawana Trusselli's brain of visual dreams of life. Venice Beach and North Hollywood are real places. The cafe, apartment and story are fictional.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 2 years ago in Fiction