Top Stories

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

Here there be Dragons
The promise of 'here there be dragons' had lured James to the sea. His plan was to sail to the edges of the ocean, find and train a dragon and take it as his steed. Of course, the minute he, only fourteen at the time, had told the crew on board, he’d damn near been laughed off the ship.
By Flora Nickels3 years ago in Fiction
A Good Ol' Classic
It was a wonderfully rainy day; all day, it poured then drizzled, poured and drizzled. I love the rain. Every day, I praise myself for making the move to Seattle Washington. It's been 8 months and I couldn't be happier.
By Samantha J.3 years ago in Fiction
The Hourglass Academy. First Place in New Worlds Challenge.
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. It was the opening line in one of Burton's erotic sci-fi novellas, the ones he thinks are cleverly hidden. (Hallway bookcase, top shelf, behind the encyclopedias.) I’d read it in a day; eyes scrunched, nose wrinkled in horrible fascination. But in the end it wasn’t the extraterrestrial orgy that most disturbed me, it was the thought of dying in space. Floating away, alone and untethered, into a vast nothing.
By AES3 years ago in Fiction
The Questioners
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Nobody can hear a scream from the head of a crazy woman either, unfortunately for you. But what if they could hear? Would they listen? Would they heed your warning?
By Cathy holmes3 years ago in Fiction
Origa Omnicum
The origin myth of Randos is as biased as it is complicated. The Elven and Mennic retellings of the story always seem to be skewed toward their gods being the most righteous and true. Through compiling the different tales, though difficult, it’s possible to reach an unbiased conclusion through shared themes in both of their stories. The men seem to believe that they and their gods were wronged by the ancient spirits of elves and their gods while elves portray it all as a misunderstanding. We will try our best to compile both myths to see what we can agree upon in both cultures and hopefully reach some sort of philosophical and theological bedrock.
By Braison Cyrus3 years ago in Fiction
Your Move
The wardrobe door scrapes open and there’s an unmistakable crunching sound of drawers being carelessly opened and closed. Jane takes another sip of barely lukewarm coffee and listens to the creak of floorboards overhead as they wander from room to room.
By Caroline Craven3 years ago in Fiction
A House of Fallen Leaves
"Wake up! It's fall!" Rylie groaned. It should be illegal for someone to be so excited this early in the morning, she thought.
By E.J. Robison3 years ago in Fiction
Baited
The child sat with legs crossed under a sky of glittering ink. The cat next to her lay on his side, licking at a bottlebrush tail coloured of charcoal and smoke. His pupils were slitted to needles.
By Lark Hanshan3 years ago in Fiction
Thicker Than Water
The fluorescent light in the kitchen flickered to life and I got my first look at my attacker, my older brother Donny, leaning hard against the Formica countertop. He was heavier than I remembered. His face looked swollen, weathered by life, like a man who had aged double in the years I’d been gone, but it was him for sure.
By B.P. McGinn3 years ago in Fiction
Individual
Captain Aaron Peteras of the Newcast Police Department stepped out of the rear of the Heavy Response Vehicle. His large muscular figure emerged, clad in his heavy black armor, with his subordinates following behind him. He took a look at the police response that had been here previously. Mostly peace officers who were here attempting to keep bystanders at bay.
By Nick Halliday3 years ago in Fiction
Rereading the book of my father
June 18, which is not only Father's Day but also my birthday. I have been thinking about what to do on this special day to commemorate this holiday, and yes, I think I will reread my father's book.
By Angela R Billips3 years ago in Fiction
Nostalgia is a road that cannot be returned
Every wanderer always has a touch of nostalgia in his heart that pours out like running water. This nostalgia is a long and winding path that can't be returned to, it can't be finished, and it can't be told, and there are many sorrows.
By Celia R Mueller3 years ago in Fiction