Short Story

Stocking Feet
Moving day came for Jeremy and his new family. The jet lag had set in hard. Worse than he could have ever imagined. It gave him a pounding headache and horrible disorientation. He’d been a coast-to-coast redeye guy for years, but this was a whole nother level.
By David Deane Haskell8 days ago in Fiction
Chili, like in Italy
A fly whirs its wings and flies away from a flickering bulb in the corner of a hospital corridor. The pistachio-green paint smells of newness and sterile freshness. The metal that connects lined-up chairs, obediently in a row of five along the walls opposite the consulting room doors, matches the green. It’s 8 p.m., so only one is still open. Emergency care must be accessible at any time. You never know when something might happen to you.
By George Roast8 days ago in Fiction
An Apple Orchard's Gems
The summer was hot, and every day the sun blazed. Some evenings it cooled by 15 degrees, which gave a bit of relief. Then there were the ongoing roasting weeks of no rain, no shade, no clouds. Even the insects were quiet and grounded, no buzzing. The birds hid in the scattered trees' leaves or flew off to the forests. Everything slowed down to survive the unusual heat in a climate usually comfortable.
By Andrea Corwin 8 days ago in Fiction
The Unspoken Rule. Content Warning.
She’s six years old in a hotel room giving way to darkness on the way down to Florida. They’re fighting again, but this is common enough now. She kneels in front of the small screen and presses the button on the TV itself. The remote doesn’t work.
By Leigh Victoria Phan, MS, MFA8 days ago in Fiction
Marked For Death
Charra walked around town, noting each establishment's unique aesthetic: worn-out shops, cobblestone streets, and a small-town feel. Lumilla brimmed with little shops, all carrying the old-time feel from when gods walked among them so long ago. The smell of the many shops filled the air, making everyone feel at home. As the many colors faded, it was still beautiful in its own way. She felt at home here, heading to her favorite shop for candied delights. The rustic charm fit the worn shop, its welcoming smell inviting to those who knew it. Each worn shelf held the candy for some time. Yet it held its charm throughout the many years it had delighted the population.
By Sarah Danaher8 days ago in Fiction
Swan. Top Story - April 2026.
“During the Metal Age, humans took photographs of everything beautiful, which was everything, yet machines did not even wear shoes. The Fauxna thought of a better way. They colored all of the light rose, for a corrupted source cannot be verified.” - Origin Parable, 011
By Nicky Frankly8 days ago in Fiction
If It Looks Like Shite.
"If it looks like shite, it probably is." I saw what I've seen so many times, like a bad trip. Someone taking a jug of something that looked off. Not right. But they took it all the same. Drank it down like it was mother's milk.
By Paul Stewart8 days ago in Fiction
A Garden of Broken Clocks
The day began like any other. From the window of his third-floor apartment, Martin watched the street below: a quiet line of parked cars, a lone delivery cyclist weaving through the early morning fog, and the familiar hum of the city awakening. The smell of bread from the bakery across the road mixed with the faint, lingering smoke of a neighbor’s wood stove. Martin sipped his coffee slowly, watching the steam curl into the air, a small, temporary comfort before the hours unfolded.
By Algieba8 days ago in Fiction
Human Resources
As Director of Human Resources for the entire facility, Helen had overseen more retirement parties than she could count. She was familiar enough with protocol that she no longer required the checklist in the appendix of the manager’s handbook, but used it anyway, in strict adherence to company policy. During her morning workout, she’d gone through the list in her head a hundred times, but seeing it printed out in black and white always brought a tangibility to the whole affair. She’d gone down to the kitchen herself to pick up the cake, rendering the cafeteria silent as she rolled the confection, red-velvet encased in featureless white fondant, as well as the requisite cutlery on a cart past ranks of seated workers on her way upstairs to the Accounts Receiving Department. Everyone knew what it meant.
By J. Otis Haas8 days ago in Fiction
The Bell That Doesn’t Ring
No one checked the clock in Marrow Street anymore. There was one, of course—high on the brick tower at the end of the road, its white face cracked like dry porcelain, its black hands frozen at 3:17. It had stopped years ago, though no one remembered when. Still, people looked at it sometimes, out of habit, like glancing at a sky that no longer held weather.
By Algieba8 days ago in Fiction
The Grace of the Unspoken
The morning began, as it always did, with the rhythmic scraping of the kettle against the iron stove. Elias didn't speak to the water as it began to boil, nor did he hum to the chill that had settled into the kitchen corners over the night. He simply moved.
By sasa8 days ago in Fiction
The Walk. Top Story - April 2026.
You can do this. You can totally do this. You made it this far. Her own steps, echoing on the encased pebbles that made up the sidewalk, were making her uneasy. Lisa clutched her hands around the stroller's handle. Her knuckles flashed white.
By Sasha Desideri8 days ago in Fiction