Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
Inside Rebels
Mr. Harrow collected the exams, his face a mask of indifference that barely concealed a flicker of curiosity. As you walked past his desk, Elena whispered, “Whatever happens, we did our best.” You nodded, the seriousness of the journey still heavy, but a quiet pride settled in your chest. When the results were posted, you found your name at the top of the list, a bright red “A+” staring back, while Mr. Harrow’s reaction was a barely perceptible pause—an involuntary moment of recognition that you had, against all odds, outperformed his expectations.
By Forest Greenabout 3 hours ago in Fiction
Inside Rebels
You stared at the chalk‑dusted blackboard, the harsh scrape of the marker echoing the teacher’s voice as it cut through the quiet of the classroom, and you felt the weight of every syllable settling like a stone on your shoulders. It was Mr. Harrow, the man whose reputation for cruelty preceded him, and you and your partner, Elena, had already learned to keep your heads down when he entered the room. “If you cannot answer the question, you are simply unworthy of learning,” he had snarled, his eyes flicking between you as if searching for a crack in your resolve. The air grew colder, and you sensed Elena’s trembling hand brush against the edge of the desk, a subtle reminder that you were not alone in the mounting dread.
By Forest Greenabout 3 hours ago in Fiction
A Pair Of Lips Will Say Anything
It’s just before 8:30 am. The new/young mom, Tamia promised Samantha and James she’d have Brailey to their house already. She made a rule for herself from the moment of her daughter’s birth: not to rush. She arrives at their home with the baby in tow. They were used to the little one. At the same time, Brailey was still getting used to the young couple. James begins a roll-call of all the things in her diaper bag. Ensuring everything was accounted for. While he is doing that Sam is keeping Bray entertained. In hopes, Mommy can sneak out the door undetected. James reassures Tamia that her precious cargo is in excellent hands. The young Mom, backs out of the driveway realizing she forgot, to leave the car seat. She sits it just inside the door, without either of them noticing.
By Jacqueline Elaine Hudsonabout 5 hours ago in Fiction
The Silk and the Shrapnel
History is a lazy and superficial artist. It loves straight lines, clear-cut motives, and people who fit neatly into the boxes someone else marked with a thick Sharpie a long time ago. In those boxes, a warrior is a stone-carved archetype: someone who smells of cheap tobacco, wears a low-slung baseball cap, and hasn't taken off a faded camo jacket in the decades since the last howitzers went silent in the distance. There is this unspoken, almost religious dictate that trauma must be visible, abrasive, and unkempt. If you don’t look broken on the outside, the world doesn’t believe you’ve ever seen the abyss on the inside. Society demands that your sacrifice be displayed like an exhibit in a museum of defeat, rather than your triumph in the form of elegance.
By Feliks Karićabout 7 hours ago in Fiction
The sky is missing.
The sky went missing on a Thursday. No, the sky did not fall, neither did it just darken ~~~ it actually went missing. A clean, blank absence where blue should have been, like someone had peeled it off and forgotten to put it back. The sun still shone from somewhere, though no one could point to where... Shadows appeared without a source. Birds flew in neat formations across nothing at all.
By Antoni De'Leonabout 9 hours ago in Fiction
A mixed marriage
We all know that this is a mixed marriage (pause for effect)... Between an accountant and a human being (pause for laughter)... and I know you wish the bride and groom every happiness, as I do. I have known Brad and Juliette since we were children. We still argue about that first kiss. Was it me, or was it Brad, who first pressed their lips against that rosy red cheek… or… have you told her the truth yet, Brad? (Pause for more laughter). Well, Bradley, old buddy, you old Romeo, your plight now prevails. You have won the hand of your Juliette (pause for more effect). You won her fair and square... well square, at least (more laughter). Congratulations, Bradley, you have the bride of your dreams. Well done Juliette, you have at last made up your mind. I know… because... you made that crystal clear... this morning… over breakfast.
By Raymond G. Taylorabout 11 hours ago in Fiction
The Substance
I stepped out on my porch, the rays of the sun beating against the window beckoning me to come outside. The warmth from the morning sun felt comforting but there was something off about the air. Like a storm approaching. I looked up. The sky had a strange hue to it. An odd shade of pink and grey coming together to make a color that's hard to describe. A color you didn't think could exist.
By Jasmine Aguilarabout 11 hours ago in Fiction
