Top Stories
New stories you’ll love, handpicked for you by our team and updated daily.
When Etna Breathes Fire
This week is one of introspection for many—on souls loved and lost. So, we pause to ponder the echoes of fire and ash. A volcano's eruption reminds us that even the strongest forces bear grief and must weaken to renew—and strengthen. The chaos reshapes land—and spirit.
By Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin3 months ago in Poets
📢 Raise Your Voice Thread: 11/06/2025
Our “Raise Your Voice Threads” are hosted most alternating Thursdays at 12PM ET to offer creators more avenues to uncover exceptional stories on Vocal. As we are continuously searching for fresh creators and inspiring stories, this thread provides an opportunity to exchange and discuss the stories that have moved and motivated us on Vocal.
By Raise Your Voice by Vocal3 months ago in Resources
Summer Leaves by S. E. Holz
I'm completely embarrassed, but delighted to share my thoughts on this incredible collection from Ms. Holz, A.K.A. by Vocalites as L.C. Shäfer. Embarrassed, because I'm very, very late in writing this. Delighted, because I had the privilege of reading this wonderful collection and giving you my honest opinion of its contents.
By Dana Crandell3 months ago in BookClub
Through The Keyhole Blooms A Flower. Runner-Up in Through the Keyhole Challenge.
We didn't always look through a keyhole to case a house we wanted to rob. Sometimes we could look through windows, other times we were invited in after we cut a lawn for the owner.
By John R. Godwin3 months ago in Fiction
Gift Giving Must Be Mindful
Gifts are given to others for a myriad of reasons: to celebrate joy or a specific milestone. Gifts travel way beyond marked occasions like Christmas, Birthdays, and other commercially oriented days such as Valentines Day to name. Gifts are given when people are awarded promotions; they recover from surgery; and at weddings, baby showers and graduations to name.
By Justine Crowley3 months ago in Psyche
Taking a Different Approach on Birthdays
Hello November! It's my birthday month, meaning that I'm a Scorpio, if you're into that sort of thing. One of the best traits about my zodiac sign is that I'm competitive and want to succeed in life. I love celebrating my birthday, which happens to be on November 13. In case you're curious how old I'll be. I'll be turning 38 years old. If you look at my profile picture on here, you must be thinking that I don't look my age and you're right. I've been mistaken for a high school student and a college student. I'm fine with that and looking youthful works to my advantage. You've heard the saying, "Black don't crack." It's another way of saying that black people don't show any signs of aging. As I near 40, I've since outgrown birthday parties. The last time I had a birthday party was at home after school and 14. Nearly 25 years later, someone throwing me a party, while the gesture is admirable and with good intent, I don't feel the need to dress up and attend my own party thrown by someone else. I turned 18 in 2005 and my friend at the time took me out to miniature golf, then had my birthday dinner at Olive Garden. Besides, who doesn't love their endless breadsticks? The staff surprised me with a chocolate cake. After that, my friend and I went to Best Buy, and I chose my first country CD. That album was Toby Keith's Honkytonk University. I couldn't wait to go home and listen to it. I wore that CD out on a daily basis, because no songs from that album were skippable. It was so good and had since fallen in love with country music. Unfortunately, I ended my friendship with my long-time friend and classmate in 2021 after nearly two decades, due to his anti-gay views. I came out to him in the summer of 2012, several months after I came out of the closet. We're no longer friends, but that was one of the best birthday memories I've ever had.
By Mark Wesley Pritchard 3 months ago in Critique
It All Started Over a Cup of Tea
“That’s not how you do it.” Selina snatched the sugar bowl away from her sister, spilling a handful of lumpy granules across the pristine counter. “God, now look at what you’ve done.” She swept her long blonde locks away from her face, and glared down at Ruby, still holding the tiny teaspoon in her tiny hand. Empty mugs sat untouched beside a jar of jam tarts, waiting to be filled and taken upstairs as a sweet treat for their party. The kettle started whistling across the room, taking Selina’s attention.
By Maddy Haywood3 months ago in Fiction
Laid To Rest. Runner-Up in Through the Keyhole Challenge.
His blood pulsed in his ears. The treasure of a lifetime might have been right before him, right beyond this final barrier. In a vain attempt to steady his sweaty, shaking palms, he wiped them against his field khakis before making the tiniest of incisions in the door’s upper-left-hand corner with his small hand-drill. It was warm, so very warm, and things were so very delicate, more than he ever imagined possible. With a small match, he tested the incision for noxious gases before peering through the peephole.
By Matthew J. Fromm3 months ago in Fiction
The Key is Me
I, a simple sinner, looked through the key hole. Inside was a sight that locked me in my place. I was no longer outside of the room, but I wasn’t quite in it either. It was as if I was held in place between two worlds. My world, and this foreign one.
By Josh Ripperger3 months ago in Fiction
The Unwilling Resistance. Honorable Mention in Through the Keyhole Challenge.
I fell to my knees as if revisiting the pews from my Catholic childhood and closed my left eye in order to gaze through the ancient keyhole of a door that separated me from certain doom and uncertain, possible doom. Astigmatism be damned; I’d have rather risked losing an eye than spend another second in that god forsaken place. I had enough experience genuflecting in my youth to afford me kneecaps of steel—and for good reason too—because I couldn’t tell if I was perched on top of shrapnel or shards of bone. The warzone expanded westward and while none of us expected it, we also couldn’t hold a candle to any false promises that came from the militant leaders. And how could we? They sat cozy and confined in their well-lit fortresses and I—along with a few hundred poor bastards—sat without so much as a glimmer of light, or hope.
By Kaitlin Oster3 months ago in Fiction
