Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
It Rained On Stoker Street
Chauncey had a shot. That’s what the small, typed letters on the paper implied at least. Brown eyes lifted from the stained paper and over to the coffee-coated hands of the stranger who had given it to him. They narrowed beneath the fringe of loose, black curls going wavy and droopy underneath the oppressive humidity.
By Silver Daux2 years ago in Fiction
The Eldritch Gentleman’s Club
Reginald, Bartholomew, and Theodore were three wealthy friends whom every night would meet in Reginald’s posh mansion for coffee, tea and crackers. At least that’s how their meetings started. They went by Reggie, Bart and Theo for short.
By Alex H Mittelman 2 years ago in Fiction
Blue. Content Warning.
Read these first: Red Orange Yellow Green Six months after the funeral The blue couch sinks under my weight as I adjust my body again, trying to find some sort of comfort. The woman, unfortunately, focuses on watering her jungle of succulents rather than on me. Otherwise, I could blame my growing anxiety on the weight of her stare and not on what she just asked me.
By Alexandria Stanwyck2 years ago in Fiction
Out Of The Looking Glass
The first mirror was an antique, something that Miriam had found when she first moved into this house, covered up by a sheet and thick layer of dust. The second mirror was from Ikea. Brand new, very minimalist, nothing to stand out next to the ornate, hand-carved frame of the antique. Which, of course, was the entire point. The idea for the piece had seemed to spring to Miriam’s mind as soon as she had found the old mirror. The old reflecting the new, the past contrasting with the present and vice versa. If she could get the angles right, it would make for some great photographs.
By Kelsey Clarey2 years ago in Fiction
The Gingerbread Baker
So the gingerbread man sits on the fox's tail. And the fox begins to swim —The Gingerbread Man Ladybird book She baked gingerbread men daily—whole families of them—using her own recipe. Ginger, cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg spiced the air as she swished her wooden spoon around her bowl, kneaded, rolled, and cut her figures. She'd even baked her own family—Mr Robinson and the children. It was the only way to guarantee a perfect family.
By Teresa Renton3 years ago in Fiction
Where’s Home?
Jake perched on a barstool at the NCO club, surrounded by fellow sergeants and their friends. The chief topic of conversation this evening was familiar to them all—Where’s Home? The subject usually came up when several were taking a leave and heading home for a visit. Descriptions of childhood places, brothers and sisters, or longtime friends inevitably followed. Home was always some place that anchored them, and drew them back from the far corners of the world. It was never a subject Jake enjoyed taking part in.
By Mark Gagnon2 years ago in Fiction
Cinderella
My darling, Cinderella, to say that I am distraught is a mere fraction of the anguish that I feel. Disease has overcome me and I know I will not have a hand in raising you. I pray you have no worries in your life and that you are in good hands with your father. He is a predictable man. He is neither an angry nor an overly joyful person. Yet, I hope in his own way he is able to adequately express the love that you need. I am forever grateful for the remaining time we have together. You are the most precious little girl: kind, quiet, courageous, and a burst of happiness. I will hold you in my arms for however long I have left. And when the day comes for me to leave, I hope I am granted a glimpse of how life will treat you.
By Jennifer David2 years ago in Fiction
