Top Stories

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

The Eye Of Ludum
"We shouldn't be here," Elna whispered. Jochen glanced towards her but didn't stop moving forward. Elna's face troubled him more than her words. For an elf, her complexion seemed unusually pale in the torchlight. He knew better than to ignore her words, though. Elna's foresight had saved his skin at least half a dozen times.
By Kenny Penn2 years ago in Fiction
Scream. Content Warning.
Roselyn Turner, a young brunette college student from Kansas, was suddenly snatched twelve hours ago. A team of four agents, plus me, rushed to the scene; we knew every second counted to try and locate her.
By Alexandria Stanwyckabout a year ago in Fiction
Treasured. Runner-up in L*pogram Challenge.
A sharp shout echoed off the canyon walls. “Relax, honey. Just a bug.” John brushed the creature off Andrea’s neck. “Must have dropped down from the trees.” He laughed, and she punched the arm nearest to her. “Ow!” He rubbed the arm, but couldn’t help another chuckle.
By Alison McBainabout a year ago in Fiction
The Adronaut
“I REPEAT, WE ARE ABOUT TO BE BOARDED. ALL GUARDS TO THEIR STATIONS. OVER AND OUT.” The mechanical tone to the man's voice, accentuated by the tannoy system he was talking through, blared through the ship. Not one person on board would have, or could have missed that warning.
By Liam Stormabout a year ago in Fiction
When Came the Dark
Monday may have dawned, but no one would have known. The sky was oh so dark. One hundred days dark. Darker than dark had ever been. No end was expected. Dark would be all we would ever see.
By Judey Kalchik about a year ago in Fiction
All Our Yesterdays. Runner-up in L*pogram Challenge.
Count them out, the absent, the departed. Hear the smooth sound waves where once laughter laced the undulate larynxes of lovers, where gentle tones of care were heard before. Count them out. The numbers mount to those we do not comprehend, cannot comprehend, hope not to comprehend. We hope we understand a hundred, a thousand, a hundred thousand, as poorly as we understand the past. Count them out. The men and women who do not return, lost to a hunger for power, a struggle for a concept, a need for resource. Count them out, for they no longer take up the scythe, the spanner or the pen. They no longer take a seat at your table, hold your sadness or your joy between the muscles of fleshed arms, no longer touch you, palm to palm, or guard your heart as you rest. No longer breathe beneath the heavens. Count them out.
By Hannah Mooreabout a year ago in Fiction
A bug in paradise
"Do you know what a bug is? It's a nuisance, an uninvited guest," Peter continued. "It's a disrupter of harmony." Dan squeezed his eyes shut, trying hard to pause his chain of thoughts.
By Irene Forsterabout a year ago in Fiction
Long Lost Brother
When I was told my brother was still alive, I didn't believe it. It had taken me twenty years to get over him being gone; I had very mixed feelings about seeing him again. Excitement? Yes. Anticipation? Yes. But something new that I had never felt before: fear.
By Rachel Deemingabout a year ago in Fiction
The Fabric Of America
She saw it briefly when they took her away; that beautiful Statue of Liberty, torch held high lighting the way for her kind. What had she done wrong? Exist? Why invite the huddled masses yearning to breathe free to the golden door if they don’t want to let them in? What a cruel joke.
By S.J. Frederickabout a year ago in Fiction
The pain of regret. Content Warning.
Written for Alexander McEvoy's challenge: *** She was a doctor. A doctor, who made unforgivable mistakes and had to suffer the inevitable consequences: watching the people she injected slowly die, including her loved ones and knowing that she was the one their lives depended on, and that she will once be the next. It was only a matter of time...
By Anna about a year ago in Fiction
Moving On
She peeps over the mountain of cereal and sniggers. “Whoops,” she says tipping the last few flakes into her bowl and shaking the empty box.
By Caroline Cravenabout a year ago in Fiction
The Ego Death of Agent Thea Claudette. Runner-up in L*pogram Challenge.
Someone awakes. A room an untalented author would conjure when confronted by a blank page: featureless wh- featureless alabaster walls, pale grey PVC floor; above, fluorescent tubes.
By Ben Henleyabout a year ago in Fiction