Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
Friend of the Family
When people say that someone is a family friend, it usually extends to an entire family being friends with another. In small towns where the average-tasting barista coffee is served with a side of gossip, and the elderly eye everyone with a certain disdain, the true meaning of this phrase isn’t yet lost.
By Eloise Robertson 2 years ago in Fiction
Starving
Without a doubt, Isabella had an eye for beauty. In the early morning frost, she would set out to walk with Dilly through the thicket behind her grandfather's half standing barn. Dilly scouted for critters in the woods while she carefully etched the ice laden branches dangling from the naked birch and maple trees. Her breath formed a haze around her pale, young, yet serious, face. Dilly leapt abruptly out of the dense wood with wet, forthright paws then pounced jovially upon her drawing. With his own signature upon her pallet, color rose in her cheeks with fury as she scolded the cowering hound; he fell by her feet like a pouty child. Being an easy, forgiving soul, she scratched the back of his neck. "It's alright boy, silly pup."
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Fiction
The Oldest Oak
"I don't like these woods," Dafydd muttered. They had a presence that unnerved him. It wasn't the darkness; it wasn't the smell of them nor was it the unidentifiable shufflings, rustlings and creakings. It was something more and his instinct was twitching spasmodically in response and transmitting its vibrations to his gut. The air felt thicker and more hesitant to part and whilst his movement was unhindered, he felt enclosed on all sides.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
Immerwald. Content Warning.
Standing so still that one might think it was a tree, the Voice of the Immerwald glared at the Ambassador. The glare was felt, not seen. Its eyeless wooden mask betraying nothing, but it tore into anyone on whom the gaze turned. Like a spile driven into their souls, drawing out fear and guilt that pooled on the floor around their feet.
By Alexander McEvoy2 years ago in Fiction
SO MANY PAINTINGS
SO MANY PAINTINGS Psst! * * There were times, many times I wished I had the opportunity and financial ability to go to college and study art. Not to draw. No! I’m lucky I can mix red and blue and come up with purple. I’m lucky I can draw two parallel lines and have them look somewhat equal. What I would have loved to have studied were the artists and their creations. What were their inspirations? Where did they get their ideas? What made them choose one idea over another?
By Margaret Brennan2 years ago in Fiction
Solutions
I was itchy. I wanted to shrug, scratch that itch, but Mother wouldn't let me. It was infuriating. It was agonizing. You soft skins, with your flexible parts. Does your progenitor echo at you for flexing, scratching, moving? You try being almost motionless for millennia, and see how you feel when the only excitement comes from hurricanes, earthquakes, landslides!
By Meredith Harmon2 years ago in Fiction
Being Human
Wandering this world, we brashly claim ownership. We give and take, create and destroy, harmonize and clash, carving our names into history's flesh. Poking and prodding, we pry at the very fabric of our existence in our thirst for knowledge - as we reach for new worlds among the stars.
By Dana Crandell2 years ago in Fiction
