Top Stories

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

Grief, or something like it
Did you know that a heartbreak can kill you? I would know. Because, after all, that’s what killed me. ________________________________
By Laura M.4 years ago in Fiction
Blue Lambs
Some say I was a good mother. I was. I took care of you when you had those awful chicken pox, remember? Big red welts rising across your shoulders, down your arms. And you, just a baby.
By Trudy Swenson4 years ago in Fiction
Enigma
A soft wind brushes against a teenage boy sitting on the edge of a bridge. His eyes fixated on a book of blank pages. "Enigma," an elderly voice appears.
By Akira Mandla4 years ago in Fiction
A Cat Called Eggs
I first caught sight of Eggs, The Ginger Terror, as he flew out of my peripheral vision, an orange streak of light in hot pursuit of an enormous black cat that I had nicknamed ‘The Panther.’ The Panther had earned his moniker by merit of his largeness and his predilection for pouncing on field mice from the limbs of an old, twisted apple tree that stood in a vacant lot across the street. The tree now provided sanctuary as he shot up its trunk to a top limb. Fast on his heels, Eggs stopped only at its base, satisfied at having treed his quarry. He stood firm for a moment, staring up at The Panther, his tail held straight and high, like a puffy orange battle flag. Then he turned and trotted purposefully back towards our building. “Wow.” I said out loud, to no one. “That cat is a badass.” Mr. Beans whined from behind the screen door. He had been watching the chase scene with intense enthusiasm, as chasing things is his primary interest in life.
By Heather Walters4 years ago in Fiction
The Roots That Bind Us
The ache that blossoms in her chest is as unforgiving as it is eye opening. Her shaking fingers brush against her sternum in a gesture which alludes both to her general disbelief, and hesitant acceptance.
By Kat Helmick4 years ago in Fiction
My Story
If walls could talk is a common phrase, but what if a whole house had something to say? Given all this house has experienced over time, it would have a lot to share.
By Mark Gagnon4 years ago in Fiction
Mama’s Thoughts
Hey honey, I’d thought I’d pay you a visit. It’s a beautiful day isn’t it? I remember a cool breeze & the sun shining was all you needed to be stuck outside all day.
By Jalynne Carter 4 years ago in Fiction
Never a Lover
I'm younger; I can feel that immediately. It's not that I have fewer aches and pains, or even that I'm thin with perky breasts. It's more like my spirit feels lighter, less burdened by time. I breathe easier; again, not in a physical sense, but in the sense that I have yet to fill my lungs with air taken in gasps of fear or gulps of rage. My lungs are still breathing out whimpers of surprise, sighs of joy, moans of pleasure.
By Mayra Martinez4 years ago in Fiction
The Flower
I was walking around the burbs with my friend, through somewhat familiar streets. We were laughing and talking and generally just wandering. Where we were going I am not sure. It didn't really matter.
By jacki fleet4 years ago in Fiction
Appetite for Words
I love shelving books. It’s meditative to float through the alphabet and institute a preciseness that each title deserves. There is a symmetry to it and an art to the spine-out, face-out flow. I smell each one and feel its texture. When the moment is right, I dive into the words to satisfy the craving. Everyone has their indulgences, addictions, but it has taken me time to embrace my unique abilities. Sometimes they scratch my skin, squeeze my windpipe, or even burn layers of skin. For too long I wondered what was real, the world inside their pages or the one where I actually breathe. The routine of keeping the books contained on their shelves keeps me grounded in this reality, even when I crave to be inside them.
By Susan Cardosi4 years ago in Fiction
The Bizarre Case of Lana Lee
My routinely stroll into my office is interrupted by the striking sound of a metal meal tray hitting the floor. My poor Benjamin has refused his breakfast yet again. I couldn’t ignore it this time. Crippling depression and anger management issues have taken him by storm. He’s been stuck at the MHOB—Mental Health Organization of Boston— for three weeks over his appalling suicide attempt.
By z4 years ago in Fiction
Red Ink
When I was six years old, my grandfather told me that if a name is written in red ink, death or misfortune will soon follow that person. The color of blood was reserved for names on gravestones or obituaries. Never for those still alive, he said.
By Samantha Pyo4 years ago in Fiction