Top Stories
Stories in Writers that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
LOVE AND MURDER DON'T MIX
Carmen woke up with a start. ‘Had it all been a dream?’ She started to wonder, but the ropes that burned into her skin told her otherwise. As her eyes adjusted to the bright concrete room, she found Lorenzo sharpening a knife near a table full of weapons. His back was towards her.
By Miracle Ohaeme2 years ago in Writers
Have you dunnit yet?
Have you started writing your Whodunit challenge entry yet? Perhaps you have already submitted one? If not, like me, you may need a little additional boost to your inspiration. If you are proud, or hate the idea of AI with your whole being, you probably don't want to read further.
By Raymond G. Taylor2 years ago in Writers
Precipice: Dreams of the Fall - Announcement
In the year 2285, a mysterious event occurs in which hundreds of bodies wash ashore TRUEcit, the last surviving bastion of human ingenuity and prosperity. Among the bodies is a survivor named Avery Thompson, whose memories of her past and where she came from have become fragmented. Her rescuer, a TRUECorp employee by the name of Nikolai Garcia, offers his aid in her recovery. However, in the wake of this event TRUECorp begins demanding answers, and Nikolai is faced with an impossible choice: will he assist the corporation in its vision for saving humanity from impending doom, or will he risk it all to help Avery reassemble her fractured memory?
By Amanda Starks2 years ago in Writers
From Light To Darkness, "Mommy" to "Your Mother"
I Was Sirena The first thing I lost was my face. It faded into the steamed glass fog my vision was becoming as cataracts in my fourteen-year-old eyes sought to claim what little sight remained to me. I looked into a mirror every day and watched myself be erased.
By Sirena Carroll - The Blind Single Mom2 years ago in Writers
How I Identity Myself!!!
Identity? Who am I? We all come to this point in our lives on our identities. Whether it is our sexual identity, feeling lost on who we are, or feeling so confused by what we think is expected by us on the unrealistic societies expectations of us.
By Emily Radford(Rising Phoenix)2 years ago in Writers
On Poetry and its Purpose
Part 3 in my 'writing' series. Find Part 1, here and Part 2, here. In our popular culture of carefully curated spectacles that we consume from the side-lines, poems are not spectacles, neither can they be observed passively. Carefully curated, yes. Spectacles, no. A conversation could never be a spectacle. Poems demand an exchange of electrical currents through the daily, mundane, abused, and ill prized medium that is language. The force that is used for deception, as often as it used for revelation. Through the tactile material things - the baseball bat in your dad’s trunk, the oar floating away from a boat, the unused spoon in your kitchen drawer, or the space where once your grandfather’s favourite willow tree stood forty feet tall. The bat becomes a lost passion, the oar/your dreams, the spoon/an opportunity and the tree/now a drum soundtracking the memories you never had. The language that is an old vehicle, fuelled with familiarity, arriving at destinations further than it has travelled, always having more to mean than it has to say.
By Mesh Toraskar2 years ago in Writers
