Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Fiction.

Lotus coming out of crystal-clear water
Once chatting with my old classmates, he said: "Looking at these greasy women around me reminds me of Tan Wenke's classmates. She is really a lotus in clear water." I can't help but sigh that this male student's words are really appropriate. "Lotus comes out of clear water" is often used by trendy love novels or small fresh meat to express the highest praise for girls. Such an abstract word falls into reality, only Tan Wenke.
By Gottlieb Lyle5 years ago in Fiction
Silent ending
That man is one or two years younger than me. When I mentioned her, the lush time of my student days was like a basket of golden beans, which suddenly fell from the air.
By YASUFUMI SUZUKI5 years ago in Fiction
A Port in the Storm
At dusk, the lighthouse keeper lit the beacon. She didn’t have an explanation for why she continued to do it. It had been nearly a year since she’d seen any sign of a ship.
By Paula Shablo5 years ago in Fiction
Something Real: A Short Piece of Fiction
The phone won’t stop wailing. I stare at it as if my glare could turn the sound to stone. The phone keeps screaming, though, and I know that it is only a matter of time before it becomes a human voice.
By sleepy drafts5 years ago in Fiction
Otter
“Otter.” A three year-old named Hanny Goldfinch with sproingy curls and sticky fingers pointed at an adorable puppy wriggling inside the cage at the pet adoption agency. It cuddled against her hand through the bars.
By Peter Wisan5 years ago in Fiction
A Battery of Ethics Not Included
She stripped the last bit of plastic coating from the copper wires spilling out of the shattered dry wall. “Just enough of a lead to wire it in,” she thought.
By Steve B Howard5 years ago in Fiction
The Allegory of Art
It is said that there was once a woman so beautiful, she tempted a god and for his lust, she was punished. Her beauty turned into monstrosity; the desire she had once inspired in men turned into fear. She was condemned to live for eternity as a beast. Her enchanting emerald stare, the one that turned whoever looked at it into stone, sentenced her to an immortal life of solitude.
By Rola5 years ago in Fiction
Kissing Her at the End of the World
The apocalypse is just something made up for shock value. I’ve seen the old-time movies where monsters rise from the sea, where alien invaders populate the skies with their ships, and where natural disasters give humanity its comeuppance at last.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Fiction
A Chance.
My heart was pounding wildly in my ears. I could hear shouts and curses behind me. ''Get her! She must be caught.'' I pushed my poor exhausted body on, towards the blue. If I could only reach the sea, I stood a chance. Max had taught me how to swim when I was five; ten years before 'they' took over, with the promise of a better life, a future, equality. Since then, no-one on this small island was allowed near the ocean. We couldn't stray from the perimeters of the electric fence. Anyone who did manage to escape was shot on sight. After months of planning, and with help, I was now running.
By Deborah Robinson5 years ago in Fiction
The Daughter
This is our world. Where your mistakes are counted, your love is forbidden, and you are constantly paying a price to live. There was a time when this wasn’t the case, though it was so long ago I can barely remember it. I can no longer speak freely, but what does it even mean to speak freely? Even if I could speak freely, what would I have to say? I don’t have my own ideas or values...I know I’m thinking as part of the collective, but how could I not? I have gotten comfortable–well, maybe not comfortable–but I guess, used to this world. I don’t know any other way to live.
By KB5 years ago in Fiction
The Busboy part II
Tuesday, 14 April 1981 “Cy, can I tell you something?” Tracy asked as they she slid into a booth across from him at Casa Cancun, a little Mexican restaurant on King Street in Hampton.
By L. Lane Bailey5 years ago in Fiction
2:47 AM
“Ma! Mother! Hey, Ma!” Ellie yells to me from the bottom of the bleachers where she’s standing with a few of the older girls from the squad. She stamps her foot on the pavement, hands on hips, ponytail swinging and face scrunched into a red-cheeked grimace of teenage frustration that she inherited from me. I slowly weave through the dispersing crowd towards my daughter. It had been a terrible game. This will be the third loss in a row for our boys, and the disappointment in the crisp evening air is palpable.
By Jessica Conaway5 years ago in Fiction