Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Fiction.

The Text I Never Sent—and the Regret That Followed. AI-Generated.
The message sat on my phone for three days. Three days of staring at the blinking cursor. Three days of typing, deleting, retyping. Three days of wondering if a few simple words could change the direction of a life—or quietly destroy what was left of it.
By Ihsanullahabout 13 hours ago in Fiction
There’s a Cow in the Room
Brian was attending the wake of his work colleague, Barry Rajacostellino. He never really liked the guy that much, although he had sat next to him at work for the last four years. Four years of putting up with garlic breath and his constant snorts instead of just blowing his nose.
By Calvin Londonabout 14 hours ago in Fiction
BAU
I woke up late. Again. Had to rush my kids to get ready and out the door onto the bus (at least they were on time, yay!), then get myself ready. Time to make coffee? No. I’ll get something on the way. Purse? Check. Keys? Check. Laptop? Check. Slide into the pumps and out the door. A rumble and shake of the ground as I’m locking the door. Not bad, must be a few miles away. Can’t worry about that when “we gotta hit those KPI’s!”
By Krystle Lynn Redererabout 18 hours ago in Fiction
The Knights of the Dead
The image is hauntingly consistent across centuries of folklore: a silent procession of armored figures winding through a moonlit forest, the rhythmic clanking of steel muffled by an unnatural mist. Their banners are tattered, their horses are skeletal, and their eyes—if they have any at all—glow with a cold, pale light. This is the Knights of the Dead Army, a trope that has marched through European mythology, romantic literature, and modern fantasy.
By Richard Weberabout 18 hours ago in Fiction
Don’t Let Me Fall in Love With You
I knew I would lose you the moment I started praying for you. Love didn’t arrive like a storm. It came quietly — in the way your name felt softer on my lips, in the way the world seemed calmer when you stood beside me. And that is what terrified me most. Because the most dangerous loves are not the loud ones… they are the ones that feel like home.
By imtiazalamabout 18 hours ago in Fiction
The Shadow Realm: A Tale of Courage and Prophecy
The sun rose over the rolling hills of the small village of Oakwood, casting a warm glow over the thatched roofs and bustling streets. The villagers were preparing for the annual Harvest Festival, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of baking bread and the sound of laughter.
By Khan584 about 19 hours ago in Fiction
My Pen is
My Peace is My Pen Arguing happens again, the police at the door making reports of domestic abuse. Screams can be heard down the alley from my bedroom window. Gunshots ricochet from the bricks of my home, on the floor we sleep. We wake to see the damage, blood spilled in the streets where we played. Let’s see who can catch this football in the vacant lot of a church that supplied the neighborhood with supplies such as clothing and food. The neighbors running trap houses as kids wait for seven o’clock to hear Mr. Frostee tunes blaring from around the corner. I can remember begging for dollars from the locals just for a vanilla soft served cone. My mother always liked hers dipped. We get ready for dinner, another soulful meal prepared by the man and woman that loved us.
By Charelle Landersabout 19 hours ago in Fiction
The House That Didnt Protect Us
Written for the prompt: Write a story in which something is obviously wrong, yet everyone acts like it isn’t. I arrived on the scene at 5 in the morning, a wooded stretch along the Merrimack River. Lately, we've been called out here far too often for bodies that have been dumped. The river runs for miles, with hardly any houses nearby, making it the perfect place for someone to leave what they don’t want found. The water is dark and murky, you can barely see the surface. Even the kayakers avoid it. Nobody wants to go in that water.
By Brandy Fabout 19 hours ago in Fiction
I Came to New York with $300—and Fear. AI-Generated.
I counted the money three times before the plane landed. Three one-hundred-dollar bills. Two twenties. A ten. And a ten folded so many times it looked like it had been through war.
By Jenny about 20 hours ago in Fiction
I Never Imagined Starting Over at Forty Would Be This Hard. AI-Generated.
The alarm rang at 4:30 a.m. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was. The room was dark, unfamiliar. The ceiling low. The air carried the faint hum of a refrigerator somewhere beyond the thin wall.
By Jenny about 20 hours ago in Fiction
The First Time I Was Rejected in Chinatown, I Finally Woke Up. AI-Generated.
The paper sign was crooked. It hung inside the restaurant window on a strip of yellow tape, its black marker letters slightly faded:
By Jenny about 20 hours ago in Fiction
In New York, No One Cares About My Past. AI-Generated.
The first thing New York taught me was silence. Not the silence of emptiness, but the silence of indifference. It was February, and the wind cut through Manhattan like broken glass. I stood outside the subway entrance at Canal Street, my fingers buried deep inside thin gloves that were no match for winter. Steam rose from the grates in the pavement, twisting upward like ghosts escaping the underground.
By Jenny about 20 hours ago in Fiction