Top Stories

Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.

Over the Hill
I shouldn't be surprised- it's just like Papa to leave the planning to the last minute. But this? Unbelievable. A person's birthdate doesn't change from year to year, now, does it? Most people have their 60th Event planned years in advance.
By Judey Kalchik 4 days ago in Fiction
Toast/speech - AKA What happened to the best man?
Quick note: a friend suggested having a go at Lana’s toast challenge, for some reason I scribbled it down one night over a week ago what I envisioned being super awkward. Then read Lana’s challenge LATER and realised mine was way too long and didn’t fit some of the criteria, so eventually just decided to post for fun. You can check out her terrific challenge below if you haven’t already.
By Grz Colm3 days ago in Fiction
GRANDMA NELSON
Daddy pulled off the interstate, and I saw the all familiar red barn, and I knew we had arrived at Grandma Nelson's farm. I always had mixed feelings about seeing my Grandmother. It seemed she had as many Grandchildren as the old Mother in the shoe nursery rhyme. I saw her as different, but that is not why I hestiated. The truth be known I always got in trouble at her house, and ended up sitting in the car after I had been scolded.
By Susan Payton4 days ago in Fiction
Parting is such sweet and salty sorrow...
Dear Wife— At first, I hesitated to go forward with this resolution. But after your recent late-night binges scarfing down bags of chicharrónes—those pork rinds you dip in butter and the god-awful crunch they make, I knew I could no longer reach you.
By Lamar Wiggins7 days ago in Fiction
Invitation
The invitation was elegant for all its simplicity: The management & staff of “the Epicure” are hopeful that you might grace us with your presence as we celebrate the completion of our recent renovations at the Skyview Tower.
By Randy Wayne Jellison-Knock10 days ago in Fiction
Waiting
It could have been the perfect summer day. The hot July sun warmed the water in the backyard pool just enough to be comfortable and refreshing. The laughter of the five little girls echoed against the splashing water as they chased each other in a classic game of Marco Polo. The game distracted them enough that they failed to notice the dipping sun nearing the horizon. Their fingers and toes had long ago turned wrinkly like raisins, but none wondered why they had been left to play so long today.
By A. J. Schoenfeld12 days ago in Fiction
Belgreth Is Real
I’m here to tell you how the story of Dracula came to be. The entire premise stems from my travels and the stories I learned along the way.
By Andrea Corwin 15 days ago in Fiction
Insurances
When I was asked to move from the big city of Philly halfway across the country to the small town of Centerville, OK, I was excited for the new start and the new job. My insurance company offered me a promotion to move because I'm young and unattached. I was to be one of two agents in the branch.
By Julie Lacksonen10 days ago in Fiction
The Fae King
It began with a girl. Black-haired and sweet and gone too soon. It is the way of mortals to die, of course. Most pass within a few decades, unless they can be tempted away to fairyland and persuaded to stay there. Even then, mortals live only as long as they can go without visits to friends or family that allow time and the weight of years to catch up to them.
By Natasja Rose10 days ago in Fiction
Rannor
Rannor looked across the empty field that held wheat in season and watched the sun rise. Oranges, purples, and pinks eked their way across the sky, fighting past the mass of black smoke on the horizon that tried to blot them out.
By Aaron Morrison12 days ago in Fiction
Working together.
It was the worst of times. Georgia had forever fought being one of those who viewed the glass half empty, but there was a hole in the bucket.
By Katherine D. Graham10 days ago in Fiction
A Destination Needs A Dreamer
Gatlin heard the violin every evening on the commute back from work. Wending between warm rushing bodies on the subway, eyes forward, bag clasped protectively at her side, she drank it in at the same time as she didn't slow. It was probably the best part of her day. The shivering strains crescendoed and collapsed, tugging at something in her core. She'd never seen the violinist, but whoever he was, he was clearly a master, clearly professionally trained. The music always seemed to be coming from somewhere further down the track, around a bend, just out of eyeshot. She'd come to think fancifully that it was something only she could hear. She’d come to think of it as her future, calling.
By Raistlin Allen10 days ago in Fiction