Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
Frances is not a Talking Mule. Content Warning.
Little Frannie had had enough. She was tired of being controlled by Dom DeMarco. Tonight was the night whether she wanted it to be or not. His reign of terror in the community was over. She was through being forced to run his drugs for him.
By Mother Combs3 years ago in Fiction
The Truth About Gloria. Content Warning.
photo taken by author using filters on Samsung phone My hands were trembling as I gripped the steering wheel of my 1979 white Ford Mercury that autumn night in October. The music of the 1980’s was playing in the background. I was sixteen, shy and trying to “fit in” my sophomore year in high school. My neighbor Siobhan, her boyfriend, Dan and his pal, Colin, as well as myself were at a Halloween party when Colin suggested we grab some beers and drive up to the woods where “she” was for some real fun instead “sticking around this lame ass party.”
By C. H. Richard3 years ago in Fiction
Cat Burglar
"Don’t worry. There’s no way this can go wrong this time.” She looks up at me, an expectant look in her green gaze. I chuckle and bring my hand to rest on her head. “But yes, we can go over it again. While I'm distracting him, you enter. You grab the goods and then we meet by the window.”
By Muchtar Suryawan3 years ago in Fiction
Pixel+
“Mother, what is that?” Mother inserts her card into the guide, activating the hologram. “Invented in 1851, the washing machine was used to cleanse items with water and detergent. This machine operated until the 23rd century, before holographic outfits and Pixel+ technology were fully integrated.”
By Oneg In The Arctic3 years ago in Fiction
Stolen and Beholden
He crept down down the hall dressed in shades of shadow, all but invisible in the dark. On his feet, he wore only socks. Forensics had recently identified a female based on prints taken from a wood floor and the worn down treads on the sole of her left sneaker, the result of her, evidently, rare gait.
By Vivian R McInerny3 years ago in Fiction
The Night of White Umbrellas
This street often speaks. On the night of the white umbrellas, many voices made their way to me. But I did not listen, for their shadows swallowed them before I could. Street lamps became my saving grace. And I watched the voices. I never stopped until the dawn came and I could see them no more.
By Mackenzie Davis3 years ago in Fiction
