Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Fiction.

The Daughter
This is our world. Where your mistakes are counted, your love is forbidden, and you are constantly paying a price to live. There was a time when this wasn’t the case, though it was so long ago I can barely remember it. I can no longer speak freely, but what does it even mean to speak freely? Even if I could speak freely, what would I have to say? I don’t have my own ideas or values...I know I’m thinking as part of the collective, but how could I not? I have gotten comfortable–well, maybe not comfortable–but I guess, used to this world. I don’t know any other way to live.
By KB5 years ago in Fiction
The Busboy part II
Tuesday, 14 April 1981 “Cy, can I tell you something?” Tracy asked as they she slid into a booth across from him at Casa Cancun, a little Mexican restaurant on King Street in Hampton.
By L. Lane Bailey5 years ago in Fiction
2:47 AM
“Ma! Mother! Hey, Ma!” Ellie yells to me from the bottom of the bleachers where she’s standing with a few of the older girls from the squad. She stamps her foot on the pavement, hands on hips, ponytail swinging and face scrunched into a red-cheeked grimace of teenage frustration that she inherited from me. I slowly weave through the dispersing crowd towards my daughter. It had been a terrible game. This will be the third loss in a row for our boys, and the disappointment in the crisp evening air is palpable.
By Jessica Conaway5 years ago in Fiction
Estris Chronicles Chapter One Part One
Greetings to you reader. This is the first part of a two-part series, where I release to the public the first chapter of my novel Estris Chronicles: Volume One. I wish for it to read like a novel, so pardon the lack of pictures and video. Here we go, enter into the world of a slave girl named Kira.
By Zenith5 years ago in Fiction
Stalemate
He calls for the last time on a Sunday night in late September. His voice is soft and slurred, and before he asks I tell him that I’m not coming this time. But we both know it’s a lie. So I pull myself together as I have done many, many times before, and I drive through a chilly rain to our old spot. He’s already in our booth; ghostly, half asleep and tapping his lucky blue lighter against the Formica. The green neon light from the Seventh Street Diner sign spills across his still-handsome face.
By Jessica Conaway5 years ago in Fiction
New Names
On my way to Touch Me, I drove through a little town by the name of Look At Me, and as I expected, there was nothing to look at. In Hear Me, there was nothing to listen to; in Smell Me, even the smell of the New Industrial Revolution was lacking; and in Taste Me, tastelessness was quite evident. What happened to the world? Did we become madder? These questions followed by a string of successors ached in my brain, and when the answers seemed to have acquired a central theme, the pain seemed to have receded as well.
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Fiction
Jonathan
Jonathan Dryden’s red popsicle was melting. It dripped through his fat fingers and when he wiped them on the front of his faded old tee shirt it looked like blood streaks. Jonathan probably did that on purpose, though. Jonathan always did weird stuff like that.
By Jessica Conaway5 years ago in Fiction
The Busboy part I
Friday, 13 February 1981 It had been a tough shift, an odd one for the opening of the weekend for Cyril Litton. Normally there were two busboys working during the week and three on Friday and Saturday, but the other guys scheduled weren’t there. And one of the bartenders was out, too. That left Cy as the only person bussing tables and he had to deliver ice and restock the bar. And, of course, the wait staff hadn’t bothered to help him out with any “pre-bussing,” getting plates and stuff off the table when patrons were finished. “Friday the Thirteenth, go figure,” he said to himself.
By L. Lane Bailey5 years ago in Fiction
Brown Sugar
I am inexplicably, unconditionally, irrevocably in love with him. The way he looks down when he smiles yet the corners of his lips turn up, its manic what he does to me its like death and life combined to form him in the image of their deepest desires in a manifested, physical form.
By Emma Ewart5 years ago in Fiction
Coming Home
Gramma always said the house had “character”. I didn’t remember ever being to the place as an adult. I’m not a young person anymore, so I may be wrong, but it does seem to me that I couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve the last time I laid eyes on the place.
By Paula Shablo5 years ago in Fiction
GALA
TW: Don't start celebrating me TOO MUCH yet. I'm kind of/sort of PROJECTING the day that my absolute favorite of all of my books gets picked up by a traditional publisher (oh; WITH an Amazon Prime deal on the way). This is all in good fun; and pay specific attention to the acceptance and thank you section. You just MIGHT know someone...
By Kent Brindley5 years ago in Fiction
Blue Rose
Rachel had finally finished her last session of the day. Today had felt like it went on forever, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. She knew today was going to be hard, it would have been his birthday today. Rachel says goodbye to her client and swiftly closes the door behind them. With one deep sigh, she rushes over to her journal to process her emotions. She always got taught to practise what she preaches. He taught her that. This should make her feel better. It has every other time.
By YesItsMocha5 years ago in Fiction