Love

Naps at E48. Runner-Up in Rituals of Affection Challenge.
It takes me a while to find it every time, even the one year when the woman behind the desk looked up at me and hesitated before scribbling the letter and numbers on a little sticky note. I knew I didn’t fit in, but she was the only person around to care: everyone else was long past the point of doing a double-take at my tattooed legs and arms, my shorts, the little gold ring through my septum glinting in the late May sun.
By GL2 months ago in Fiction
Take Care of Her For Me. Runner-Up in Rituals of Affection Challenge. Top Story - February 2026.
He made me promise, and I have kept it. It’s the only thing left that I have of his life. We didn’t have much when we had the accident, and I have even less now.
By Meredith Harmon2 months ago in Fiction
Adam and First Woman . Top Story - February 2026.
At the time, there were no other people to witness that the Eve we know of now was not the first woman ever created. And that's what the myth gets wrong, but God and Adam knew.
By Lana V Lynx2 months ago in Fiction
The Shelf Between Us
Every year, a mother writes a birthday card she never sends. When the letters begin to answer back, forgiveness arrives too easily—and hope becomes something she’s no longer sure she should keep.
By Erica Roberts 2 months ago in Fiction
When the Lantern Came Back On
When the Lanterns Came Back On The train station in Hangzhou smelled like metal, steamed buns, and winter coats that had not seen the sun in weeks. Li Wen stood near Platform Six, her phone cold in her hand, watching families spill out of the arrivals gate. Red suitcases. Red scarves. Red envelopes already peeking from pockets. It was two days before Chinese New Year, and everyone seemed to be going somewhere they belonged.
By Zidane2 months ago in Fiction
Tuesday at Six . Honorable Mention in Rituals of Affection Challenge.
Insults were her only amusement. If I were to bring anything now, it is the beauty inside me. Within. No? Don’t I bring enough? For a man, it seems not. Yet, still, there’s a bucket in my hand. No toilet that I could flush; yet, without security, I don’t bring enough.
By Caitlin Charlton2 months ago in Fiction
Yelling for the Sheep
You think you know the story of the old-country farmer, but there’s a whole other side lost to history. In the late eighteenth century, in a small village seventy miles outside of Valladolid, Spain, there was a young man named Ramon Marin. He had just inherited a small sheep farm from his father, Antonio, who passed away seven weeks ago. His mother, Alma, had died years before, soon after he came of age.
By Gabriel Shames2 months ago in Fiction
The Inverse Calculus of Us
"The clock has struck three, the coffee is cold, and the shadows are beginning to speak. Welcome back to the desk of The Night Writer, where the stories are brewed in the dark."
By The Night Writer 🌙 2 months ago in Fiction
Tea Time
Like every morning, Ester watched as trembling hands lifted the robin’s egg blue teapot and poured the amber liquid into a matching teacup. Louis’ hands were wrinkled, weathered, calloused from years of work. She still loved holding those hands across the small kitchen table as they talked. She remembered doing it for fifty years, the hands had changed but they felt the same. It was a good day when she could think back over the years. It was better in the mornings. The fog of sleep when she woke up lifted and she remembered his name, but in a couple hours it wasn’t guaranteed.
By Raine Fielder2 months ago in Fiction
Colored Shoes
I was once a guy who loved bright color shoes. Give me the lime greens, and the cherry reds and the hot pinks. I'd wear them outside, I'd wear them to sleep, I'd wear them to play sports and even in my dreams.
By Christian Sanchez2 months ago in Fiction
Fires of Adversity
Kathryn, Princess of Thuirene, rose early to enjoy the sunrise in peaceful solitude. As much solitude as a member of the royal family ever got, anyway. She’d have little enough of that in the coming days, that every moment without someone demanding her attention was a gift to be savoured.
By Natasja Rose2 months ago in Fiction
The Night the Princess Chose Love
The rain began the way secrets often do—softly, almost politely, as if asking permission to exist. Princess Seraphina noticed it first from her balcony, the way the lantern lights blurred and trembled as droplets fell. The palace behind her was alive with music and conversation, but she had slipped away again, drawn to the quiet pull of the night. Rain always made the world feel more honest. Less polished. More willing to confess.
By Zidane2 months ago in Fiction