Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
Hemlock
Mr. Perigo was dead. There was no doubt in this matter. It had been established by his mourning widow, the clergyman and the undertaker. He was as dead as an inanimate object could be. As dead as a cartwheel abandoned in a canal, as a flickering candle in a haunted mansion, as a penniless poet’s inkwell. Take your pick, he was defiantly a goner.
By N J Delmasabout an hour ago in Fiction
Mirror on the Wall
GillVille Drive was a quiet neighbourhood with recently paved roads, manicured lawns, a playground and soccer field, and houses much too large and extravagant for the average person to afford. Some houses had two garages, third floor balconies, backyard ponds, and one even had solar lights in the shape of owls and pinecones lining the walkway to its massive oak front door. This such house was the left half of a duplex. The other half was unoccupied, but balloons of yellow, white, and blue brushed against each other softly in the wind. On each balloon was written the words “open house” with too many exclamation marks. The balloons looked cheap and informal. They stood out for that reason. Two of the yellow ones had already popped. They dangled limply on their string.
By Gillian Corsiattoabout 6 hours ago in Fiction
The Un-Punxsutawney Protocol. AI-Generated.
The year 2042 was, in many ways, unremarkable. Flying cars were still prototypes, sustainable energy was perpetually "just around the corner," and humanity still hadn't figured out how to make a decent cup of coffee that wasn't sentient. But for the small, snowy town of Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, February 2nd remained sacred.
By Alicia Leneaabout 8 hours ago in Fiction
Field of the Fallen
Sunlight danced softly across the frost-crusted fields, making the little blades of grass sparkle like emeralds. The faraway chirrup of a songbird was the only disruption to the quiet of the morning. An icy chill, the last vestige of the dying winter, clung to the air, settling in a thick white mist at the far side of the open field. The heavy stench of decay hung in that mist, punctuation by the sharp tang of freshly spilled blood.
By A. J. Schoenfeldabout 8 hours ago in Fiction
The Throne Room
The smoke hung heavy in the air, overtaking the sweet and savory smells that permeated the festival. The wooden poles that held the steel grates over the roaring flames were overturned, and the meats were ravaged by the beasts that hunted with the red-eyed shifter.
By KA Stefana about 9 hours ago in Fiction
TCoE: Climb
A scoff erupted from above. "You'll never make it," a man's ragged voice sneered. A twelve-year-old boy with messy dark hair and tan skin pulled his brown eyes from the parchment in his shaking hands. The sharp, resentful words cut his heart, leaving it frozen and gradually draining. The skinny lad was a bit taken aback by the stranger's harshness, but he mentally fought hard to brush it off. After a few moments, the bitter man who taunted the boy removed the hood of his cloak to reveal a scarred face. The man had wrinkly, tanned skin and long, dark hair.
By Mel E. Furnishabout 10 hours ago in Fiction
Calamity "Callie" Shortfuse. Content Warning.
So, Miss Shortfuse... Neat name. Very nice to meet you. May I call you Calamity? Callie, if it's all the same to ya. You only call me "Calamity," when you're beggin' for your life. So Callie is just fine.
By Madison "Maddy" Newtonabout 10 hours ago in Fiction
