Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
Midnight Bus
The bus doors opened with a long metallic sigh, even though no one had pressed the stop button. For a moment, I stood on the empty sidewalk wondering if I had imagined it. The streetlights flickered softly above me, and the road stretched into darkness like an unanswered question. I had been waiting for nearly thirty minutes, and the city around me had already fallen asleep.
By Vocal Member 3 days ago in Fiction
Bahlool and the Price of a Smell
Bahlool and the Price of a Smell Old Baghdad was a city of many sights and even more smells. On a particularly hot and dusty afternoon, a poor Arab beggar arrived in the city after a long journey across the desert. He was tired, his clothes were covered in sand, and his stomach was growling with hunger. However, his pockets were completely empty. He didn't have a single coin to buy even the smallest piece of fruit.
By Amir Husen3 days ago 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 3 days 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 Wilson3 days 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 Patterson3 days ago in Fiction
YNs
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 Saunders3 days 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 Lease3 days 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 Morton3 days 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 3 days ago in Fiction
