Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
A Cat Called Eggs
I first caught sight of Eggs, The Ginger Terror, as he flew out of my peripheral vision, an orange streak of light in hot pursuit of an enormous black cat that I had nicknamed ‘The Panther.’ The Panther had earned his moniker by merit of his largeness and his predilection for pouncing on field mice from the limbs of an old, twisted apple tree that stood in a vacant lot across the street. The tree now provided sanctuary as he shot up its trunk to a top limb. Fast on his heels, Eggs stopped only at its base, satisfied at having treed his quarry. He stood firm for a moment, staring up at The Panther, his tail held straight and high, like a puffy orange battle flag. Then he turned and trotted purposefully back towards our building. “Wow.” I said out loud, to no one. “That cat is a badass.” Mr. Beans whined from behind the screen door. He had been watching the chase scene with intense enthusiasm, as chasing things is his primary interest in life.
By Heather Walters4 years ago in Fiction
Never a Lover
I'm younger; I can feel that immediately. It's not that I have fewer aches and pains, or even that I'm thin with perky breasts. It's more like my spirit feels lighter, less burdened by time. I breathe easier; again, not in a physical sense, but in the sense that I have yet to fill my lungs with air taken in gasps of fear or gulps of rage. My lungs are still breathing out whimpers of surprise, sighs of joy, moans of pleasure.
By Mayra Martinez4 years ago in Fiction
Appetite for Words
I love shelving books. It’s meditative to float through the alphabet and institute a preciseness that each title deserves. There is a symmetry to it and an art to the spine-out, face-out flow. I smell each one and feel its texture. When the moment is right, I dive into the words to satisfy the craving. Everyone has their indulgences, addictions, but it has taken me time to embrace my unique abilities. Sometimes they scratch my skin, squeeze my windpipe, or even burn layers of skin. For too long I wondered what was real, the world inside their pages or the one where I actually breathe. The routine of keeping the books contained on their shelves keeps me grounded in this reality, even when I crave to be inside them.
By Susan Cardosi4 years ago in Fiction
"Tick Tock"
Tick, his face filled with marks, I stare at his wide-open mouth wondering when that saliva would finally fall. As I continued staring, a disgusted expression suddenly drew itself on my face upon the sight of him inhaling his drooling saliva back into his throat.
By Sterson Stepha4 years ago in Fiction
The farewell trip before our divorce
I want this trip to be never-ending. I look at the scenery in front of me, and fear the moment we’ll reach our driveway, park our Devil’s Red Citroen Berlingo and she’ll take her luggage and head for her new life. I fear the moment I’ll stop seeing long empty roads stretching across different climates and at different hours, because when that moment does arrive, I’ll be going home to an empty bed. A bed without Sophia and her extravagant ways. A bed without her messy hair all over my face, her legs intertwined with mine, and her left arm always reaching for my left hand. She hates being the small spoon, and for twenty two years she’s ruled my world, the color of our bedsheets, and our sleeping positions.
By Lucia Carretero Sierra4 years ago in Fiction
