Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
Shards
"The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own." I saw the scrap of paper at the top of the desk drawer. I squinted at the crabbed writing, so like mine, but definitely not my hand. My aunt and I were very similar in a lot of ways, and our lefty scrawls were near the top of the list. I sighed as I put it in the box with all the other papers. This box would go in the van with the others, to go through when the loss wasn't so raw.
By Meredith Harmon3 years ago in Fiction
The Big Red's Gang
Domestic and Graphic The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. I should have never removed the duct tape from the cracked rearview mirror. Piercing black eyes leered at me from a scarred windblown face every bit twenty years my senior. The remnants of a blackened bullet hole oozed congealed blood from his forehead and down his face. In shock, I gasped and swerved onto the shoulder of the desert highway.
By J. S. Wade3 years ago in Fiction
the purple road of grief
In a land not far away at all, there lived a boy who liked purple lollipops. They reminded him of water with Kool-Aid mix, something his mother used to make for him on Sundays as a treat. But when his mother disappeared, his father was too wrapped up in grief to recall the Sunday morning ritual. So, he settled for the grape lollipops that his teacher sometimes handed out.
By Oneg In The Arctic3 years ago in Fiction
The Music of Time. First Place in Time Traveler Challenge. Finalist in 2023 Vocal Writing Awards - Science Fiction.
The peculiar little man scurried back and forth, as he hooked various colored electrodes onto the clear cap upon Aegon's bald head. Chronos, as he was simply known, was awkwardly close to Aegon, his thin mustache almost kissed his forehead.
By Jordan Flynn4 years ago in Fiction
Brigida. Second Place in Time Traveler Challenge.
Large and looming, the arch and thrust of the joists make for a perfect hanging place. The red wood-planked sides rise tall to meet the posts that knit the walls together, while the white trim that outlines the crisscrossed wooden doors glows brightly in the dusky light of Montague, Massachusetts.
By S.J. Frederick3 years ago in Fiction
Rumpeledforeskin
Ever since I was a young lad, my only goal in life was to be a member of The Elementals. Instead, I ended up more of a stage prop for a garage band. I have the antics of St. Patrick’s Day to blame. Or perchance it is the ancient curse passed down from my arrogant ancestor Rumpelstiltskin.
By Stephanie J. Bradberry3 years ago in Fiction
