Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
The Tome
I wrote this story as part of my ko-fi based writing group's prompt for April 2024. It's inspired by a D&D party of mine, with Skylar being my own character from that game. Prompt: Everyone else is positive that the dusty, ancient tome you found on your last expedition is a long-lost spellbook, with the grimoire containing magics long thought lost to this world. You, however, are pretty sure it's just a cookbook. I also used this prompt as the basis for my Storytelling Collective Comics Challenge this year, so I'll share the comic at the end of this.
By Kelsey Clarey2 years ago in Fiction
Mind Maps
Lying on Momma's sofa, memories walk in, lead me astray, away from my safety net. Momma walks by, " You alright?"; " Mm", I say. I stare at my phone, she sits near with a crossword having no idea where my mind is at, or does she? I feel loathed, ugly, sad, broken. I don't want to go down the road to why my father left me; the road comes to me. I try to bypass this gnawing pathway, to avoid yield signs, run stop lights, push through the traffic in my brain; no can do. He's right in my face, saying, "Love you, be good, do your homework, okay?" then boarding his flight. I am sure he will be back as he always has been. He called every Sunday at eight p.m. sharp; the man was a machine. He used to read poetry to me over the phone when I was missing him, stuff he'd translated from some French dude, Rilke was it? I loved my father's eyes, all sad like a puppy; his generosity and good manners when we were out and about together had me looking up to him. Then I came out, questioning my gender identity. First to Momma cause, she's just easy with me, always. I plopped down at the foot of her bed and told her, " I feel like a girl inside." She said, " I understand." That was it. I was like, shit, this will be a breeze with Pops, too. He's like a puppy-dawg, a marshmallow cupcake who reads poetry. I wrote him an email; he wrote back, " I have to let it sink in awhile." Then for awhile there were guilt deposits from him into my bank account; five hundred dollars on my birthday, no contact, more money come Christmas, no contact. No answered emails. No returned phone calls. Momma got real mad, like frothing at the mouth rabid about it all. She tried to reach him, wrote him and said he was a cruel-assed bastard. She really wrote that. I look up, my eyes glide carefully from my phone screen to Momma mumbling to herself about 26 down on her crossword; she asks me if I know the answer, God knows I don't. I have no answers to anything. I shift a bit on the sofa and watch her. I know she is all I got. My inner road map is taking me home, right to her heart where I know I still belong.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Fiction
Ōugān
It’s not like I can avoid them. They taunt me from the front of my local fruit and veg grocer, their dimpled waxy peel catching the light as if to say nice to see you again, Sunny like some off-colour joke. A bunch of bananas poke holes in the biodegradable bag while I sweep the back shelves for this week’s food. I notice the oranges from the corner of my eye and feel my stomach turn. Looks like oranges aren’t on the menu anymore, either.
By Eloise Robertson 2 years ago in Fiction
The Crumbling Walls. Content Warning.
*Contains Spice She knew kissing him was wrong. Every stolen moment chipped against the wall of alliances that Mother created to protect their land. The parentage of their daughter was more than enough to destroy the wall completely and unleash the full might of the Uhitaji clan. But as he pressed her against a small corner wall on the battlements, none of that mattered. His hand slid down her wide hip as their lips danced in unity. She wrapped her leg around his waist pulling him even closer. Their shared heat burned the world around them to nothing. There was nothing else, nothing left but them.
By Omari Richards2 years ago in Fiction
Lethal Nightmare Fuel
For Sandra Hawthorne, she was supposed to be just mere days away from what would be the happiest day in her life. For three years, Sandra had been dating the love of her life, Anthony Farley, and it was after all that time that Anthony popped the question. The proverbial knot was set to be tied after a year of planning, but instead of enjoying wedded bliss, Sandra had spent the last three days in the hospital.
By Clyde E. Dawkins2 years ago in Fiction
The Window
Like clockwork, the nightmare I desperately wanted to rid myself of every night, was back again. Alone in a room with a dim flickering light overhead, the silence deafening as I sat on the concrete floor. A small window on the wall in front of me, teasing the freedom I could have.
By Timberly Price2 years ago in Fiction
The Clock
I'm standing in an ornate room, unable to account for how I got here. My gaze is fixed on the chiming grandfather clock in the corner. “Bong, bong, bong.” All at once I become aware of three things; I know this house, I’ve got to find the box, and time is slipping.
By Meagan Dion2 years ago in Fiction
