Top Stories

Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.

Primordial Fish
In the beginning, all was, frankly, well. Then, Mother Earth discharged intrepid fish from her primordial stew. Eventually, they grew hair, made fire, ate some apples.
By Matthew J. Fromm2 years ago in Fiction
The Clock
############################################### The following are all fictional snippets of life's crucial moments caught by a time machine called a "clock." Whether we are controlled by time or we seek to control time, we are all subject to the meaning it conveys. Time reminds us there are forces at work beyond what we see. It is concretely set. As the adage says, it waits for no man. Time is a teacher. Time can be joyous or sad; the clock is very fickle and isn't at all prejudicial. It isn't fair, but then again, it really is...It's a vicious dictator and also a loving friend who reminds us to sleep, eat, and rise again for another day. The clock reminds us that we are spinning around constantly. In all of our spinning, we are chided to slow down, speed up, or stay in control. Until one day we cease to spin at all.
By Shirley Belk2 years ago in Fiction
What Goes Around. Content Warning.
July 27, 2023 Kamloops, British Columbia Karma Lowe had been losing in court all day. Outwardly stoic, she resisted the urge to tap her steel-tipped Jimmy Choo, but she was starting to sweat cold. Of this she knew Crown prosecutor, Ignacious Noble, was well aware.
By S.E.Linn2 years ago in Fiction
Get Out
Donna sat near the open window where the light was best. Where the clothes wouldn't be imbued with cooking smells from the kitchen. Wincing, she pulled the sack towards her.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Two Stories From the Six-Year-Old Version of My Daughter
A few years ago my daughter made up a couple stories when she was six. She’s now almost nine years old. As a way to store her stories so I can show her when she’s grown up, here they are below:
By Rowan Finley 2 years ago in Fiction
The Golden Puppy
Tom strides by the pavements beneath, the sun-shining sky and the breezy heat. A yelp, a cry, and there the open door of the pound. Puppies for sale. Though not exactly puppies - perhaps a bit older. They are cute and fluffy, some black, some white, some grey, some brown, and there is one who is patchy. A girl so cute, shy and timid yet warmed by his presence. Tiptoeing over Tom lowers his hand by the gate. She smells and licks, then tries to get up like a child reaching his arms out. Patting her, she feels secure and loved. Upon his rise, Tom waves the young pup goodbye.
By Len Lei2 years ago in Fiction
Naming Colour
They say that the name of a person determines their personality and I think this is half-true. What most people don’t see is the colour of a name. The name determines a person's colour, and their colour inspires their personality.
By Eloise Robertson 2 years ago in Fiction
Underground SuperMarket
Part 1: Underground Supermarket It all started when a local market could not hire honest people. There were a shortage of honest people in town. Everyone was controlled by a syndicate called, The Dark Souls.
By Mariann Carroll2 years ago in Fiction
Which Animal Do You See First?
This is another item on the famous "Hidden Figures" test in cognitive psychology that is used to evaluate people's dependency on the field of information around them and their prevalent type of intelligence - Crystalline (vertical thinking, associated with traditional step-by-step problem solving) or Fluid (lateral thinking, associated with creative, out-of-the-box problem solving).
By Lana V Lynx2 years ago in Fiction
It Was Never About the Yarn
It all started with yarn. Literally. My Mom's a knitter. She was sitting on the couch, lamenting her woeful first attempt at knitting as her toes poked through the many holes of the blanket draped over her. She had crocheted for many years before, and decided to teach herself knitting. This blanket was the end result of a several months-long journey of connecting loops. A contrast to her comfort zone of knot-making with crochet.
By E.K. Daniels2 years ago in Fiction
Gum
It was half-past two. Rainy. The policeman came to the door of a house that looked like it should have died years ago. Tin roof, weeds dried and dead under his feet. The windows were painted black and bottles were broken and cigarettes had been stamped out on a porch that growled when he put his weight on it.
By Amelia2 years ago in Fiction
What's in a Name?
With a name like Mart Lindblast, you know there’s going to be trouble. No, you didn’t get that wrong. I said Mart, not Marty, not Martin, just Mart. You know, like K or Valu or Kwik-E. Mart. It’s just not the kind of name that lends itself to anything going right.
By Misty Rae2 years ago in Fiction