Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
Lollipop Dreams
I glared at the ticket placed before me until the typed numbers appeared to be nothing more than squiggles. Tobacco wafted through the dusty air of my cramped apartment. The kitchen faucet dripped; each drop of water vibrating in my ears. Picking up the worn slip of paper with shaking hands, I flipped it over, quickly reading the claim written in bold ink:
By Isabella Rose2 years ago in Fiction
Ophelia. Content Warning.
Trigger Warning: mentions of domestic abuse Your hands were sweaty the first time we met. It seemed to permeate my keys as you shakingly plugged in ten digits and the name "Ophelia." You tossed me into your purse, unaware of how I bounced around until I sunk to the bottom. It was dark in that purse, the kind that grabs and holds you hostage without any hope of escape. I didn't much care about the pitch dark as a bit of curiosity led me to search the internet.
By Alexandria Stanwyck2 years ago in Fiction
The Train to Kuranda
It was time to emerge from the belly of Buda-dji. He had come to Buda-dji from a burning land, where nothing but flame, scorched earth, and charred brush lingered. The dry air had choked on smoke and haze. Ash had rained down from the heavens, dusting the burnt remains that littered the ground with a cinereous burial shroud.
By Rachel Hannah Fendrich2 years ago in Fiction
Plastic
I would look in the mirror and all I could see was this plastic shell. When I was a young girl, over time, I realized I had people pleased my way into or out of situations. At times, it would come off a bit flamboyant or overly enthusiastic in conversation, portraying a phony persona, all to make sure I didn’t disappoint someone. It’s not that my intentions were to ever forge, but to make sure I’m pleasing everyone around me.
By Natasha Collazo2 years ago in Fiction
Snow Angel
I feel the tears on your face bleeding into my heart as you stare out the back window of our house and I know you’re thinking of me. The bittersweet memories this snow covered landscape brings so clearly to your soul are also etched into mine. Can you feel me, Papa, like I can feel you? Can you see me like I can see you? I’m right here, Papa, standing in the snow, under the old apple tree waiting for you.
By Gerald Holmes2 years ago in Fiction
Best Friends
Their giggles were infectious; Betty Rubble and Wilma Flintsone like. Looking up at the sky, the warmth of the sun on their faces, yet the air is crisp from the winter breeze tickling their noses and making them slightly runny; their cheeks are flushed and rosy.
By Jess Boyes2 years ago in Fiction
