Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
A Christmas Glitch
The twins were dead. Our hero knew it, and you may imagine that a little something in him unclenched when he saw the news on his screen. Now, at last, he was truly free of them, and the knowledge was like a sigh. Were he a balloon animal, one segment of his torso (or his neck, or one intestinal-esque limb) would have gently unscrewed itself. His heart and lungs lost a little creak that he didn't even know he'd been carrying.
By L.C. Schäfer2 months ago in Fiction
Free Your Mind
John Hope opened his eyes and found himself lying on a stiff mattress. The mattress was striped and worn out and was covered by a grey comforter that felt like a scratch pad on John’s back. He sat up on the bed and looked ahead and was greeted by the sight of iron doors. John was in a jail cell, but he couldn’t recall why. “What am I doing here?” He thought to himself. “I didn’t commit a crime. I didn’t kill anyone. I don’t even have a criminal record. So why am I in a jail cell?”
By Joe Patterson3 months ago in Fiction
The Museum of a Lost Girls Life. Winner in The Forgotten Room Challenge.
Marie Wildapple spent the first ten summers of her life in the embrace of Veilwood Valley. She arrived there first in the house of Aunt Gabrielle as a toddler with chocolate smeared cheeks and grass-stained knees, trailing after a mother too young to properly belong to anyone, including her own daughter.
By Imola Tóth2 months ago in Fiction
Hall of Memories. Content Warning.
On September 20th, 2019, I called an Uberxl. On previous days I had been secretly packing my belongings in garbage bags and putting them outside the side door. At around 4 A.M. the car showed up, and I loaded it with my belongings and headed to my new home. This was the day I escaped my old home and my parents. I was 35.
By Sid Aaron Hirji3 months ago in Fiction
it was morning; i was mourning
it was morning; i was mourning. my pager went off. i reached into my pocket to see who it was. my mother was paging me. that never happened. i was riding my bicycle up park avenue. middle of winter. it was a bright cold. sharp. almost painful. bitter wind blew through the broken zipper on my jacket. reminding me that i was broke; or broken?
By stone petoskey 3 months ago in Fiction
For All The Ages
Thalia, acknowledged bastard of the Royal House of Dorion, was not the simpleton that so many assumed her to be. It seemed to come with being the daughter of the goddess of beauty and love: everyone supposed that you could have no interest beyond fashion and relationships. Thalia was good at relationships, seeing them in others, or at least the potential for them. Other than that perception, and some minor shapeshifting abilities that allowed her to subtly change her features, her powers were extremely limited.
By Natasja Rose3 months ago in Fiction
