Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Fiction
Diabolical Dealing
Charlene Lind found herself at the home of her therapist, Dr. Alexandra Vech, who she had been seeing for a week. What was supposed to be a session ended up becoming a desperate plea of help from Charlene as she was suddenly losing consciousness. She was cognizant enough to know that she had only a minute left until she would be out like a light.
By Clyde E. Dawkins2 years ago in Fiction
Gossamer
"Murray! Wake up!" He loved that period between waking and dreaming. To him, it was like entering another dimension; more of a dreamscape than dreaming itself. There was an otherness to it that he wanted to grasp and yet deeply respected the fact that it could never be his totally. This is what gossamer was; flighty and light, a wisp of smokiness, an idea suggested but not fully revealed, a slit in cloth, a copse in the wood.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
A CLOSE ENCOUNTER
Stars twinkled brightly in a moonless sky, reflecting in the calm waters of Lake George in the Adirondack mountains of upstate New York. It was a warm August night, as we laid back in the boat, marveling at the magnificent Milky Way. Dark skies made the stars more brilliant at this time of year, especially during a new moon, causing wonder and enchantment. We never tired of stargazing while floating on water, a truly immersive experience.
By Jon H. Davis2 years ago in Fiction
Blossom
A dead past does not put a halt to a new future. A year later, Kaffy, a highly intelligent, creative, bookish, and preppy Nigerian-Canadian 15-year-old girl was released from juvenile prison. She was arrested and charged with petty theft and assault, and was sentenced to a year in prison. Her sentence was supposed to be 6 months for stealing a lollipop, a chocolate bar, a pack of playing cards, and a bag of Cheeto's cheesies from 7-Eleven, but she received another 6 months for kicking, punching, and hitting another female inmate across the face during an altercation in the canteen.
By Talia Devora2 years ago in Fiction
The Dangling Bead. Runner-Up in Just a Minute Challenge.
My life is splashing before my eyes, as I precariously suspend and prepare for the end, the consumption of my Self and identity. I know that gravity will be the victor in this struggle. Like a pendant, slipping from the chain, the tension has caught me in this moment, bestowing one last gift of reflection. I cling desperately, questioning my purpose. Searching for comfort. And I remember…
By Leslie Staven2 years ago in Fiction
Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley2 years ago in Fiction






