Short Story
The King of Peace
A parade day. A celebration day. A mandatory day of patriotism. All across our great nation festivities will be going on. Towns will scramble to make it the grandest day in the history of days, by decree. And the Masks will be checking to ensure it is, never you worry.
By Micaela Sparrowabout an hour ago in Fiction
LHS Class of 01 Reunion '16
The central arena, once a flat expanse of polished hardwood that had witnessed countless slam dunks and frantic scrimmages, was now a shimmering sea of color and texture. Marc coordinated the placement of round, metallic tables that were covered in shimmering silver cloth, each topped with crystal vases filled with deep‑red roses and white lilies, the flowers’ petals soft against the hard surface. Peter, ever the detail‑oriented, arranged a series of small LED lanterns around each table, ensuring that the light would bounce off the polished surfaces and create an ambient glow reminiscent of a warm, inviting lounge rather than a stark school gym. “If we angle the lanterns just right, the reflections will make the whole room feel like we’re inside a giant disco ball,” he said, his eyes alight with the sort of childlike wonder that only a well‑planned event can inspire.
By Forest Greenabout an hour ago in Fiction
LHS Class of 01 Reunion '16
It was a damp, early‑winter afternoon in 2016, and the echo of squeaking sneakers and the faint hum of the gym’s fluorescent lights filled the cavernous space as Marc lugged a massive roll of glossy, burgundy‑tinted tablecloth across the polished wooden floor. The scent of fresh paint from the recent renovations mingled with the faint, lingering aroma of disinfectant, giving the room an oddly comforting, institutional perfume that reminded him of countless high‑school assemblies. As he unrolled the fabric, he could hear the clatter of metal ladders being set up by Scott, whose formerly lanky frame moved with an almost frantic efficiency, while Peter, ever the meticulous planner, consulted a crumpled checklist that read, “Balloons, banners, lights—don’t forget the photo wall!” Their collaborative energy turned the otherwise sterile gym into a bustling workshop, each of them determined to transform the space into a nostalgic haven for the class of ’01.
By Forest Greenabout an hour ago in Fiction
Mors Invicta: Remembered Only as Footnotes
Unsheathed, my blade shone like the moon on the darkest eve as the sun rose above me. Though it had yet to meet the entrails of the beasts that threatened peace and sanity, my hands were bathed in the blood of legions.
By Paul Stewartabout 3 hours ago in Fiction
Questions To Be Answered
Cassandra had often wondered. What made her mother leave her? What was her mother like? Did her mother want her to have a better life? Or did she just not love her child? Was her blonde hair the same as her mother’s? Or did she get it from someone else? Would she recognize her mother if the other woman stood before her? Who gave her her name? Was it her mother or the people who’d found her?
By Reb Kreylingabout 4 hours ago in Fiction
Night of The Pandas. Content Warning.
Just an FYI: March 16th is National Panda Day! It began like any other night. My husband, brother, and I took our dogs out for a late-night stroll. They did not like being out around our neighbors or their respective pets, and neither did we, so this routine suited us just fine--anything to maintain the peace.
By Rain Dayzeabout 6 hours ago in Fiction
