Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
A Broken Piece of Cake. Third Place in SFS 2: Death By Chocolate Challenge.
My wife’s chocolate cake awaits inside upon the dining room table. The wafty scent has long been an established greeting for me at our entrance door. It is my sweet reward for a week of traveling mind numbing sales work. There is a deeper-seated unstated missive connected with the fresh baked morsel. A message that I am loved, appreciated, and deeply missed while I am away. It has always been and always will be my wife’s ‘Welcome Home’ gift to me.
By Jason Burnham5 years ago in Fiction
Eyes Like Mornings
There was a rumor among the servants that there was no room in the palace that didn’t have eyes and ears peering in at all times. The spy network of the King was vast, enough so that just about anyone could secretly be apart of it. The servants couldn’t trust each other, the guards never knew if something they said was truly safe between them, and any visitors were careful of everything they did for fear of it being used against them. Lucas was one of the few who knew that it more rumor than truth. A useful rumor though, one that made it easier for him and the few real spies to do their job. They didn’t have to focus as much attention on the inner workings of the palace when everyone was scared stiff of trying anything.
By Ace_Strider5 years ago in Fiction
Special Delivery
This is part of a story begun in The Invitation and The Birthday Wish The man stared at the large box. Wrapped in brown craft paper and dotted with stamps showing its journey around the world, it rested on the kitchen table next to his unfinished lunch. He slowly ran his fingers through his scraggly gray beard. A gesture he invariably made when he was deep in thought, which often happens when you live alone in the middle of nowhere like him.
By MATTHEW FLICK5 years ago in Fiction
The Force Within Her
Ten translucent fingers wrap around the warm leather wheel of my convertible. The sage green Triumph leisurely twists and turns with the forest road. Gnarly trees weave together above the snaking, potholed concrete. I approach Newtown, a village nestled deep in the New Forest and my home for the next few days. Curls of red hair stream behind me in the cool southern breeze. Speckles of sunlight tickle the constellation of brown freckles on my flushed cheeks. I inhale the damp, earthy scent of the untamed wilderness deep into my lungs. Phthalo green leaves rustle playfully as the car creeps down a narrow curving lane. My chestnut eyes spot the wooden sign with ‘Woodside Lodge’ carved into its flesh. I turn the wheel, pulling into the charming holiday let.
By undertherowantree5 years ago in Fiction
Salvations' End
The smell of the salty air, the sounds of waves crashing, and the warmth of the sun; that is where Pietro’s mind drifted. . His little girl Evangeline and his darling wife Sarah running back and forth in tandem with the waves. Memories of watching the sunset disappear and watching the night sky rise before returning home. A vision of a time that seemed to have occurred a lifetime ago. Looking around now all he saw was the dark clouds that never gave way to that beautiful radiant light. He shifted in his position and grimaced at the pain from his wound. He hated that incessant howling that, at first, had curdled his blood, however now just annoyed him. He glanced around in the distance and saw them moving back and forth ever so quickly and cautiously. There was no need for them to be worried as he hurled his gun into the pile of other useless wooden pieces, but they didn’t know that. He questioned all the choices he had made that had led him to this moment. To die in this dingy old barn. He sighed deeply, watching the chill materialize his breath, and began to let his mind fade.
By Luis Omar Padilla5 years ago in Fiction
The Woman From My Dreams
Darkness asserted itself like a solid force gently pressing me into my bed. Autumn’s cool breath drifted in through the open window. Curtains danced somewhere near the window, filling the darkness with the whispering of their skirts. My eyelids grew heavier and slower with each blink. Nearby, the purring of my feline companion washed over my consciousness like a little living motor. There was a moment in which a waking thought conjured an important memory; then the waking thoughts were no more.
By Michael Sean5 years ago in Fiction
