Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
Crier
“Hear ye, hear ye…!” He really went all out this time. I mean, no one expected Albert to wear the full outfit that early into the celebrations. It was six in the morning, and he was right in the dead center of Antonville, right underneath the bunting and the flags, standing by the statue of the town founder (not important right now, but you know the place is called Antonville, so…), and he did not even have a microphone or bullhorn. But I heard him. He was right by my café and I had just gotten up to make the coffee for the day. Not that I did not expect to see him out there, but it was a real shock to hear it at first.
By Kendall Defoe about 5 hours ago in Fiction
I Like You
The metal bleachers of the football field were so cold, it made Regan shiver as it creeped in through her jeans. It was Friday night, and the stadium lights cast long shadows of the goalposts across the turf. She was sitting on the highest row, her fingers digging into the straps of her backpack. Inside the bag was a heavy glass jar of paint. The weight was the only thing that was bringing Regan any kind of comfort.
By Sara Wilsonabout 6 hours ago in Fiction
You Make Your bed
Matthew is sleeping is his bed when he is suddenly awakened by a rock being thrown at his bedroom window. “What the heck is that?” He said to himself as he was rousted from his sleep. “Matthew! Matthew! Get up fool!” A voice called down to him from the other side of his bedroom window. Matthew climbed out of his messy bed and went to the bedroom window to investigate.
By Joe Pattersonabout 6 hours ago in Fiction
YN
1996 When pavements got hot in the summer time, that called for drivers to drop tops and crank up AC units in their four wheeled stallions. Twenty-four-year-old Gregorian Vault leaned back in his seat into the “ghost position.” If you rolled up beside him, it would appear as if no one drove the car with his seat reclined at such an extreme angle. He looked lanky and light skinned. He sported three hundred and sixty degree waves.
By Skyler Saundersabout 7 hours ago in Fiction
The Bridge That Stayed Standing Too Long
The county left the bridge in place because removing it cost more than admitting it was dangerous. That was the joke in town, though nobody laughed when they said it. They said it in the feed store, in line at the gas station, over coffee at Mae’s Diner while rain ticked against the windows and the river rose another inch on the chalk-marked post behind the sheriff’s office.
By Lawrence Leaseabout 7 hours ago in Fiction
Above From Below Part 6
Dragging in Major Kohl had not been in the plan, but he was unsure why she'd bothered to find him in Texas. This wasn't her fight, and Nico wasn't her brother. In Rick Steele's distrustful mind, something about the Major turning on her command, and against the country, by sharing the truth with him, didn't sit well. As he hadn't stared a gift horse in the mouth, Major Kohl's revelations about Nico's accident were a blessing, but to Rick, it wasn't that simple.
By Jason Mortonabout 11 hours ago in Fiction
The Gnash Lawn
The sun over the suburbs was a cruel, mocking eye, bleaching the life out of the cracked pavement and the dying stalks of what Gary Wallace once called a lawn. It wasn't a lawn anymore; it was a battlefield of waist-high weeds and patches of dirt that looked like mange on an old dog.
By Meko James about 13 hours ago in Fiction
The Lower Shelf
The Lower Shelf by luccian.layth An old bookstore on a street he won't remember the name of. Ghaith pulls a book from the bottom shelf, wipes the dust with his finger without meaning to. A woman stands nearby reading upright, as though standing is part of the act.
By LUCCIAN LAYTHabout 14 hours ago in Fiction
The House Remembers
Joachim Trier’s Sentimental Value (2025) is a film that operates with deceptive simplicity. At first glance, it appears to be another entry in the lineage of European family dramas—restrained, introspective, concerned with memory and emotional estrangement. Yet beneath this familiar surface lies a far more intricate structure: a film about the impossibility of direct communication, and the desperate human tendency to replace speech with form, gesture, and performance. What Trier constructs is not merely a story about a broken family, but a meditation on how art becomes the last refuge of those who can no longer speak truthfully to one another.
By Peter Ayolovabout 14 hours ago in Fiction
The Cost of Waiting. Content Warning.
Peanut wasn't one of the cats who came to us. We went to him. At the time we weren't a sanctuary yet. We were living in an apartment, loving the cats we already had. One day I was standing on my balcony when I heard someone talking about a cat that was lying by the doorstep to another apartment building. At first, we weren't going to intervene. After some time, we knew we had to.
By Special Little Whiskers Kitten Sanctuaryabout 15 hours ago in Fiction
