Top Stories

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

Daughter.
The girl sighed as she stared defeatedly at the unremarkable ceiling over head. Gentle rays of light danced against the light blue walls of the room. The sun rose slowly in the sky, the beautiful mixes of oranges and yellows and pinks, replacing the black and navy of the night before. The girl ran a hand through her red hair. Another sleepless night had come and gone. Her chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm as she contemplated doing it today.
By Cianna Williams4 years ago in Fiction
Careful What Name You Choose
Shortly after moving into our new neighborhood, my wife found him on Interstate 12 in Louisiana. Unannounced, she delivered him to me, which was clearly against the rules. But our home is like the Roach Motel--if anything checks in, they never check out. The smell was painful, and after addressing the filth, tar, and matted hair, he was still unrecognizable as any particular breed.
By Gerard DiLeo4 years ago in Fiction
WEAVERS
"He's gone!" "But where...?" "...and for how long?" "...The Storyweaver is fine. Right now, we should tend to our healing allies."
By Kent Brindley4 years ago in Fiction
The Harvesters
Letifer the Harvester leaned against a tree on the edge of the clearing at what was going to be known as The Battle of Chickamauga and listened to the battle rage. He and his brother, Mortem, had been hard at work for eons, but the human mortals still haven't learned to coexist. Not that mortals in general thought much about the Harvesters or the Beyond anyway. Letifer marveled at how consequential the human mortals thought their lives were. He and his brother had been around since the universe began, and humans, who only lived for 50 years at a time, thought of nothing but conflict and progress, leaving Letifer and Mortem to harvest the souls that were ripe.
By A. Vaughn4 years ago in Fiction
A Story About A Forest
Once upon a time there was a gorgeous, lush forest that teemed with life and vibrance. The forest was protected by highly official documents, laws and legislation, unharm-able, loved and nurtured by all who lived by it. Baby squirrels played and chased each other up and down majestic trunks from dawn to dusk. Nestled in great roots were settlements of mushroom villages and fat bugs of all shapes, sizes and colours wove in between the little umbrellas. Food was abundant, air was clean and sweet and seldom was there a crash that told of a fallen giant. When there was, new saplings rose up tall, growing strong upon the wisdom of the old bark beneath their roots.
By Angie Allanby4 years ago in Fiction
Changeling Child
The night that Mary Bennet was born had been a clear, cold one. Stars illuminated the cloudless sky, as if watching over some fortuitous event. The village of Longbourn, and it's neighboring town of Meryton, were as quiet as they ever could be. Indeed, it was almost peaceful, if not for the happenings at Longbourn.
By Natasja Rose5 years ago in Fiction
Extra Credit
Darlene rested her head against the cool and solid refrigerator, her eyes closed as she counted out the longest sixty-three seconds of every day. Those sixty-three seconds it took for the coffee machine to create her personal cup of mommy wake up juice to start the day.
By Judey Kalchik 4 years ago in Fiction
The Unsaid Good-Bye. First Place in SFS 8: Pear Tree Challenge.
Nic sat on the toilet in her great-grandmother’s house, staring at the shower wall mural that had creeped her out as a child, feeling very creeped out. She hated using the bathroom here, because there was nothing to do but sit and look at those creepy, sculpted people with their white, almond-shaped eyes and oversized hands, positioned around the trunk of a vast Yggdrasil of a pear tree, branches spread wide above the length of the tub and oval leaves ending in sharp barbs like wasp stingers drooped in silent menace. If a bathroom could be threatening, her great-grandmother had cornered the market.
By R. E. Dyer4 years ago in Fiction
Reading and Righting
Reading and Righting Ricky Pardue buried his Ma by his Pa up in the Boot Hill Cemetery as close to the old pear tree as he could get them. His Pa died of accumulated ills and despondency associated with his time fighting for the Confederacy's failed secession, and his Ma died not long afterwards of consumption, according to old Doc Gibbons. His Pa never was right after he came home from the war, and his Ma just seemed to have wasted away.
By Cleve Taylor 4 years ago in Fiction
To Drown a Pear
Circe Elton was only twenty-two years old when she began working for The Facility. It was quite an honor to be sought out for a project of this caliber, especially given her youth, or so she had been told in one of the fifteen or so interviews that she ran through with her usual ease. Other people liked to tell her how proud of herself she ought to be at any given time-- an unconscious desire of inferior minds to assert some emotional control over a person they could not comprehend in the slightest. Other people did not know what to do when confronted by sheer, unadulterated genius. It made them doubt themselves, destabilized their over-inflated egos. But Circe did not care. In fact, she did not care about anyone at all.
By Katie Alafdal4 years ago in Fiction
The Fall
Our grandpa wiped a light dusting of snow from the top of the frozen lake with his gloved hands, then gazed toward the ice, nearly pressing his face against its surface. “T’ets,” he said looking at us.
By Sara Rose4 years ago in Fiction
The Lady of the Lake
Elvis once sang of love as a burning thing. He was right, of course; it had been burning and bright and untamed. Like a wildfire, it had been all-consuming. Burning, burning, burning - love had warmed my cheeks and stolen breath from my lungs just as flame and smoke might have.
By P.K. Lowe4 years ago in Fiction