Top Stories

Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.

Aurora shift
1950, June Southwark, London The fusspot, the grumbling old man, the one I can’t stand to be without but also sometimes roll my eyes by all of his stickler ways—-had his hands firmly planted on his hips—his eyes in a solemnly petty position.
By Melissa Ingoldsby3 years ago in Fiction
A Terrible Thing. Runner-Up in If Walls Could Talk.
“If walls could talk,” I heard her whisper absently, as she sat on the top stair of my sagging porch under a dark sky. Barefoot, jeans rolled up past her ankles, Diana fixed her gaze on a horizon she couldn't see and barely blinked at all. A single cigarette sat alongside a book of matches from Frankie's Pub and Pizzeria on the buckled gray boards beside her. No bugs chirruped or buzzed in the night; no nocturnal scavengers rattled around the rusty trashcans out back. The big yellow dog rested her head on her paws and silently stared out into the same abyss as Diana, eyes glistening.
By Marsha Singh3 years ago in Fiction
A Titanic Error
"STOP!!!" I screamed. Well, it felt like a scream in my mind. It sounded more like a death rattle or a kid trying to gargle mouthwash for the first time.
By Donna Renee3 years ago in Fiction
The Governor Dies
If walls could talk and tell the world what they saw, humans would behave with more transparency, and crime and corruption would disappear.
By Robbie Cheadle3 years ago in Fiction
Chestnut Street
If walls could talk, lavish vowels and exquisite consonants at my disposal, I would use them to beg for your forgiveness. I would tell you how sorry I am for what transpired, what a fool I was to possess a gift so rare, only to mistreat it.
By CJ Miller3 years ago in Fiction
The Hunger of Sea Glass
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Generations had grown on the foothills of Ambria and gazed in wonder of their choreography, humbled by the majesty of nature and beauty locked in an unending embrace. The dreamscape of twilight was an enduring reminder that all is as it was and always would be, a shining glimpse of eternity.
By Call Me Les2 months ago in Fiction
The Altered Sands of the Soul
Hobnailed shoes pinched my feet as I pushed through the Mississippi farm fields toward the greenhouse behind the antebellum mansion. My quest for destruction had brought me back in time one hundred and ninety years to the year 1833. If I could destroy the literal seeds of slavery at its root, I could change the history of the world and millions of lives.
By J. S. Wade3 years ago in Fiction
Lycoris radiata
If walls could talk, mine would surely be silent; not for lack of experience, but because they have simply said enough already and remained unheard. I have been unheard.
By Christiane Winter3 years ago in Fiction
Drystane
Waking up from another noisy night, Drystane began to open his eyes as his consciousness gather. Staring across the living room, the singing of songbirds outside told him that it was the early morning even though the sun had barely begun to rise. Letting out a yawn, he was greeted with an elderly gruff voice.
By Thavien Yliaster3 years ago in Fiction
The Forgotten One
If walls could talk, I would ask. Do you still feel his presence every time you hear footsteps outside your room? When the door opens do you wonder who is coming through, is it him? Is this why you shiver as your tiny body presses against me?
By JBaz3 years ago in Fiction
The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea. First Place in If Walls Could Talk. Third Place in 2023 Vocal Writing Awards - Horror Fiction.
If walls could talk, you would not listen unless you had to. How can I be so sure? One has not risen from the centre of the earth in a tectonic and seismic exaltation, stood stoic for three hundred million years through ice ages, through meteoric obliteration, and born witness to unprecedented evolution to be in any doubt of a few pounds of flesh such as you.
By Caroline Jane3 years ago in Fiction
Bonnie and Floyde
"I am a bad apple". At least that's what Mama used to say. She was so strict and stern that I never got to have any fun. Papa was much better, he used to hang out with me, and we had some really good times. He took me to all kinds of sporting matches, granted I couldn't tell one game from the other. Football, Soccer, Cricket, Baseball, Golf, well, I tell ya, they just seemed like a lot of people running around all the time. But, I just loved hanging out with him, I loved Papa. Then he just upped and died from something in his brain. Why the stupid doctors allowed that to happen, I just couldn't tell.
By Novel Allen3 years ago in Fiction