Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that youβll love, handpicked by our team.
The origin of flowers and colors
Once upon a time, the world was bare of beauty and color. Everything as far as the eyes could see was either black or white. People's eyes were so accustomed to the dark that it was completely commonplace to live a life of neutrality.
By Novel Allen3 years ago in Fiction
Torrance and the Valley of Thieves.
Lightning strikes overhead, not a cloud in sight to claim the bright effect. The gods are angry again... Torrance wanders out the barren cave, afraid for his life. His temporal nerves ache, an apprehensive sign of a calamitous future.
By Lamar Wiggins3 years ago in Fiction
The coast on the map
Chapter 2 π³πππ πΎππ π΅πππππ, πΈ πππππππ πΈ ππππβπ π πππ πππ’πππππ, πππ πΈ π πππππ ππ ππππ π’ππ πππππ πππ ππππππππ πππ πππππππππ ππππ ππππππππ ππ πππ πππππ ππππππ ππ ππ’ πππππ ππππ. πππ ππππππ ππ ππ π ππππ π πππ πΈ πππ ππππ πππππππππ. π°π πππ πππ ππ πππ πππ’, π π π πππ ππππ πππππππ.
By Starlight Tucker3 years ago in Fiction
The Cat With the Abalone Eye
A hole had swallowed all of Lake Walter that summer. Lydia told me it went all the way down to the bedrock. She said she had heard that from her teacher, though it was more likely the fourth-grade illiterati. Mom said it drained into an underground river that flowed through a network of caves, but she drank nightly, and her facts seemed less believable after dinner. Still, the implications of what she said could swallow me in a spiral of morbid thoughts: swimmers struggling to exhaustion, small animals drowning in their hovels, Indian artifacts swept into unreachable crevices or expelled from the hillside, forever lost amongst the scree. To an eight-year-old whose toys were a pocket knife and a collection of spark plugs, that hole had more teeth than any folk creature in the county.
By B.A. Durham3 years ago in Fiction
Open Hands. Content Warning.
"There, there, little one," she cooed to the newborn. "You're alright. You're in safe hands. I promise you." It's dissatisfied little moans permeated the quietness of the room. Rubbing its whiskers this-way-and-that, it tried to search for the warmest spot to rest its weary head. Squirming in the palms of what seemed like a giant to it, the babe tucked its legs underneath of itself, trying to retain as much heat as possible.
By Thavien Yliaster3 years ago in Fiction
