Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
Witchy Woman
“You’re going to have to adjust your requirements if we’re ever going to find someone,” Carmichael said. He and Tanya had gone through almost 5 candidates this week alone, and frankly, he was about at his wits end. It seemed like no one was going to meet her impossible standards, and the end of the month was coming too soon.
By Sukie Harper4 years ago in Fiction
Shapes in the Dark
It was a little after 11 PM in the early spring. It was a cold night as winter hadn't quite given up yet. As such it was very dark with the moon rarely peaking through the clouds. My partner had already gone to bed and I was doing my usual evening routine of cleaning up the kitchen and living room. I had started to wash some dishes as I waiting for the tea to whistle and just aimlessly looked out our kitchen window. That's when I first saw it. I didn't know then what I know now, not that it would have changed anything. Not all knowledge is helpful.
By Krysta Minor4 years ago in Fiction
The Anaconda Insurgency
There was no resting under the sun. It was a saying from his days working the coffee plantation. While the sun was up, everyone worked, and not just the hired hands but the Madam too. Even after sunset, she was in the office of the estate house working. It wasn’t until he became an officer that he learned the true meaning of administration.
By Jessica Rumbold4 years ago in Fiction
The Trees Swallow People: Part 7
We can never go out the back ever again; there’s a tree trying to get in. I don’t know if it’s the same for everyone else, but their trees started like mine; unobtrusively invasive. I let Diva out the back for her morning wee. The previous occupants did the back garden up, covering much of the once grassy plot in concrete, opting instead to construct flower beds, a glass house, a shed, and a little scummy pond. Despite this, there it was, a willow oak sapling sprouting out from a ruptured crack in the ground at the bottom of the back.
By Conor Matthews4 years ago in Fiction
Slipping Time
I slipped on the wet pavement. I got to my feet and soon discovered it was five hours earlier. This was not the first time this had happened -- I knew all the signs. My phone was not broken, it was really five hours earlier. The newspaper on the ground confirmed it. The paper was bone dry, even though it had been raining cats and dogs, or big sloppy drops, anyway, where I had just been, right here, a split second ago.
By Paul Levinson4 years ago in Fiction
Home to the Owl. Runner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge.
When I was a child, the hazy golden summer days stretched on forever, woodland fairies drifted through the towering trees of ancient forests, the wind whipped up tidal waves of dust containing fierce monsters vanquishable only by mighty swords made from wooden sticks, and bedtime stories were told to us by an owl in blue moonlight.
By Brittany Moore4 years ago in Fiction
Hectic High School Days, Part I
I moved to New York two months ago, trapped in a U-haul truck with a million thoughts running through my head. I remember sneaking stares at my sister Georgia from the passenger's side. I watched her tears fall but didn't say a word. I remember our Mom saying that we couldn’t come back to our Tennessee home. My heart felt like a dozen knives just pierced through it. I was convinced that nothing will take away those memories of twirling in the blue grass, or watching myself grow from a southern babe to a rough-housing tomboy through the reflections in my mother's vintage full length mirror.
By Norma Jane4 years ago in Fiction
The Clairvoyant Artist. Runner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge.
Life holds endless possibilities for those that hope for something greater than their present reality of struggle and misery. If we dig deep enough we eventually come upon the keys that open the doors to our success and prosperity. But if we ever choose to stop digging then we accept defeat until we pick the shovel of hope back up. Many reach the grave never finding their set of keys. They tossed their shovels to the side and watched others dig. Some stop digging due to the influence of others or because they have lost vision and reason to continue. Yet there is always a small remnant within the crowd of diggers that never put down their shovels. With sweat on their brows and sore arms, they push until they have the ring of keys dangling in between their fingers. They prove victorious in a world full of defeat. Why? Because no matter how many breaks they took or how many times the shovel was tossed, they found a way to pick it back up and dig deeper.
By Ebony Burns4 years ago in Fiction
