Top Stories

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

Tell Me, Grandmother; Why is the Sea Salty?
Oh so many ages ago, but just a blink ago against all time, the Mother surveyed Her work as the vessels she had created during the Beginning found their place within the Great Space.
By Judey Kalchik 2 years ago in Fiction
The Myths of the Forest
Much like us, a forest is a group of family members. Trees are capable of intense love for one another and care deeply for our environment. Trees depend on the life forces around them, including birds and animals.
By Ruth Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
The Sleepless Giant. Runner-Up in Mythmaker Challenge.
Come here, my child. Don’t tread the snow in. Sit with your grandmother beside the fire on this cold night, lest we freeze. The frost has reached my bones and nothing warms the soul like a story retold. Did you know the waterfall beyond the trees was the first one to ever be? Have I not yet told you how it was formed? Well, it’s as good a story as any.
By Susanna Kiernan2 years ago in Fiction
How Coyote Created the Milky-Way
When the sky was only darkness, Black God (Haashch’eezhini) sat atop a lofty mesa, viewing a panorama of the void. His own face was empty, because he was the deity of fire, which consumes all. His eyes smoldered and he bore a crescent on his forehead.
By Rob Angeli2 years ago in Fiction
Gutter
We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars. - Oscar Wilde Pinky was late. It wasn't like her to be late. She was one of the few people it seemed these days who still relied on a watch to tell the time and not a glowing little screen. Besides, she didn't have a place to really charge said glowing little screen, and she didn't have the money to keep it turned on. Not many of us did. Every now and then, someone would get a free phone and service through some program, and it would usually end up stolen and therefore useless. So, there I was, peeping the time on the CNN building, waiting for Pinky while Boo paced and milked a cigarette. I always said she was too young to be smoking, but she didn't have much else to calm her nerves. I wanted to glance up at the clock again, and tried to stop myself. A watched pot never boils or something, right? Time seemed to not matter much on the streets while also mattering a little too much. It only took a second to lose everything. I gave in, and looked up at the clock.
By Josey Pickering2 years ago in Fiction
How the Firefly Got Its Light
Listen, my children, and gather around while I tell you how Firefly, that most mystical of all the creatures, received its light.
By Natalie Wilkinson2 years ago in Fiction
Weekender
In dry summers like this one, Manhattan is disgusting. Dog piss bakes on tarmac, human shit blooms rank in the dark corners of subway stations. The new grass in every park, pampered by spring rain, is trampled under careless feet and picnic blankets until it’s nothing more than powder. In the country, no rain means fire, or crop loss, or sometimes just the disappointment of a wilting garden. In the city, it’s the death of human civility.
By Suze Kay2 years ago in Fiction
From the Cat to the Dog
Why do we look at a terrible rain storm full of thunder and lightning, painful drops of water, and say, “It’s raining...,” well, you know what?
By Kendall Defoe 2 years ago in Fiction
The Redeemer
"To fight evil you must understand the dark." Nalini Singh ~ "The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance observes."
By The Invisible Writer2 years ago in Fiction
The origin of flowers and colors
Once upon a time, the world was bare of beauty and color. Everything as far as the eyes could see was either black or white. People's eyes were so accustomed to the dark that it was completely commonplace to live a life of neutrality.
By Novel Allen2 years ago in Fiction
Crooked Man
The mist marches across the surface of the pond like an army of ghosts. Vaporous tendrils intertwine and disperse like footsteps falling beside each other in the perfect rhythm of purpose.
By C. Rommial Butler2 years ago in Fiction
The Trolley Problem
The machine was beautiful. Sleek silver, sharp lines, expert craftsmanship. There was the slightest hum of the machinery underneath running smoothly. It was a soothing sound.
By L Mincola3 years ago in Fiction