Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
Message Me Afterwards
>That was a bad idea. I thought you knew… >Oh, the pathos! I don’t really know you as well as I should. In fact, I may not know the real you at all. That essential, sparkling you that you only reveal to a select few. Had I been paying more attention to the stories you are so fond of telling, in which you are invariably author, narrator and protagonist, I would not have been so foolish as to set you up on a blind date. After all, no friend has ever done anything of the kind for another. That’s preposterous. What is a friend, really?
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Fiction
Conversion
It does not rain much in the Arizona desert. But when it does, the waters come hard and fast. Ancestral dry river beds scoured by flash floods bear witness to their force. A man caught between steep, rocky banks can drown on a cloudless sunny day, swept away by water racing across the desert, shed by thunderstorms rumbling beyond the horizon.
By Pitt Griffin2 years ago in Fiction
Llion the Brave Version 2
Her screams diminished as Llion was dragged away from the cell. The stench in the corridor was less but there was still damp, decay, defecation, death. His feet dragged, like a raggedy puppet, the guard either side of him holding him fast. He could feel their individual fingers digging into his scant flesh, leaving their impression on his bones.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
Epilogue
December 25th, 1943 Sunrise Clement still needed the cane his doctor prescribed to him once returning home to Canicatti. His favorite part about the walking stick, which he thought only the elderly folks needed to use, was Rosalie’s unwavering persistence in reminding him to use it every time he felt like rebelling. Which was quite often. It was a bit annoying he thought, but it was her pestering determination to keep him healthy during his recovery that continued to breathe life into his shattered body and soul.
By Kale Sinclair2 years ago in Fiction
The Seventh Step
“It’s a different room every time. Sometimes it’s my grandma’s house from when I was little. Sometimes it’s my college apartment. Sometimes it’s somewhere unfamiliar, but always there are the stairs. I know I have to go up, but I’m afraid. I can feel my heart pounding and I feel sick, but I don’t know why. It’s like my body isn’t mine anymore, and I start up the stairs, and I’m thinking ‘No, stop!’ but I just keep going. When I get a ways up, I try to take another step but, instead, I fall backwards. I can feel myself in the air, just in a panic, nothing to hold on to and no way to stop, just falling, falling, falling until THUMP! And then I wake up.”
By Megan Malcolm2 years ago in Fiction
Homemaking
January 8, 2024 The sign flickered, but Joel glimpsed enough to know he was at the right place: Wight’s Funeral Home. His Great-Uncle Stuart had nearly reached his ninety-eighth birthday, so Joel hadn’t exactly been shocked to receive the notice from the funeral home about the visitation. But he had no idea Great-Uncle Stuart had fallen ill or taken a bad turn.
By D.K. Shepard2 years ago in Fiction
