Love
The Light She Tends
The stone steps of the Veli Rat lighthouse were worn smooth in the centre, a shallow groove carved by a century of keepers’ boots. Petra knew each one by heart—the twelfth step that chirped like a cricket, the twenty-eighth where a seam of quartz caught the sunset and glowed like a vein of gold.
By Anna Soldenhoff2 months ago in Fiction
The Friday Ritual
The routine was a loop, the same silent ceremony every Friday at 7:00 PM sharp. It had been going on for three long years. Marko would stand at the heavy oak table, his shoulders tight, and begin to slice the sourdough. Skritch. Skritch. The sound of the blade biting through the hard crust was the only clock that ticked in that house. He cut each slice with the focus of a surgeon, terrified that if a single crumb fell outside some imaginary line on the dark wood, the fragile peace he’d spent years building would just snap.
By Feliks Karić2 months ago in Fiction
Every Sunday at 4:17
Every Sunday at 4:17 p.m., Eleanor brushes her husband’s hair. The nurses know not to interrupt. They used to ask why that time. They don’t anymore. Hospitals teach people the mathematics of grief. After a while, no one questions the arithmetic.
By Edward Smith2 months ago in Fiction
The Salt in her Voice. Runner-Up in What the Myth Gets Wrong Challenge. Top Story - February 2026.
The myth says mermaids sing to lure sailors to their death. But why? The ocean is huge. Only 5 percent has been discovered by man. Why would a creature of the sea with that much space to roam ever care about the fate of men on ships? The answer, as it turns out, is not a simple one at all. The truth about the myth is older than the tides. Long ago before the first ship ever cut across the surface, the sea made a pact with the sky. The sky would take the souls of the drowned. Anyone who died in storms or any quiet accidents of the deep would have their soul lifted upward to the Heavens while the bodies would remain below, feeding the oceans endless hunger. The greedy sea however wanted more souls than the sky would claim. So it created mermaids. It gave them beautiful voices woven from currents and moonlight. It commanded them to sing. "Bring forth the ones who float where they should sink." it instructed them. So they did. They never killed out of malice but out of obligation. They sung to summon, not to seduce. A mermaid's voice could loosen the tether between the body and soul, making any man step willingly into the water. The sea would take the body and the sky would take the soul. Balance maintained.
By Sara Wilson2 months ago in Fiction
Chicken Soup of the Heart
She was finally asleep. He leapt into action. The flame on the oven went on immediately. He started boiling the chicken broth. He opened up the chicken breasts and plopped them into the broth. Three days ago, she had caught a cold and had never let it go. He chopped up the vegetables, starting with the carrots, moving on to the celery, and even an onion or two. They had tried the Nyquil, the Dayquil, all the quils, all to no effect. He minced parsley and added it, with the vegetables, to the soup. She slept a lot, thankfully, but still retained the temperature.
By Jamais Jochim2 months ago in Fiction
The night everything changed. Content Warning.
As soon as I saw it, I knew what needed to be done. I left without a second thought. I ran straight into the pouring rain and was soaked within seconds. I shivered and pulled my cloak tighter, but the buttons were broken and I couldn’t close it properly. One was missing, and the rest hung from loose threads. A cold draft slipped through, the wind flowing freely.
By Minou J. Linde2 months ago in Fiction
Performative Ritual. Runner-Up in Rituals of Affection Challenge.
He has certain expectations for the women in his life. Her closet represents many of them; only whores show their shoulders or their knees. Skirts must be long. Tank tops are simply for other people. People who aren’t them. People who aren’t decent like they are.
By Leigh Victoria Phan, MS, MFA2 months ago in Fiction
Four
… After kissing Victoire goodbye and leaving her in the middle of the night street, Romain and I enter his building and climb up to the fourth floor. Incidentally, I live on the fourth floor too. So does Victoire. As it happens, most of my friends have ended up on this floor, without meaning to. Is there something magical about this even natural number? One, two, three, four.
By Anastasia Tsarkova2 months ago in Fiction
“Marry, and Become a Philosopher or a Happy Man”: Exploring Socrates’ Timeless Wisdom. AI-Generated.
Socrates, the ancient Greek philosopher who famously declared that “the unexamined life is not worth living,” had a unique way of blending humor with profound insight. One of his lesser-discussed, yet strikingly witty quotes goes:
By Ayesha Lashari2 months ago in Fiction
