Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Fiction.

Doodling along .......
One day A was out doodling along the word path. Just wondering where he will end up. A met a lot of friends along the way, but still just doodling along this path making more friends along the way. He saw the end and seen his friend.
By Mark Graham4 minutes ago in Fiction
The Day Pass
The morning did not begin—it dragged itself into existence. A dull, splitting ache pulsed behind his eyes, as if the night had left something unfinished inside his skull. The room smelled faintly of cheap rum and stale air. He lay there for a moment, not thinking, not moving—just existing in the heavy silence that follows excess.
By Honey Batth5 minutes ago in Fiction
The Day the Sky Almost Spoke
The sky changed color at exactly 3:17 PM. Not slowly. Not like a sunset easing its way into evening. It snapped—like a glitch.
By Zuhaib khan USA11 minutes ago in Fiction
The Burden
Walking alone through the dark streets, with no destination and no reason—just moving. The day begins the same way it always does now: not with purpose, but with a quiet question—what should I drink today?
By Honey Batth14 minutes ago in Fiction
April Fool's Ode
Rules are meant to be followed. Rules are meant to be broken. This was the schizophrenic world in which Ode had found himself.
By Katherine D. Graham27 minutes ago in Fiction
They saw nothing
The strange allegations were confirmed; 47 graves unearthed. Coffins emptied. When caught, the perpetrator claimed he needed bodies– an offering to the Gods.
By Lamar Wigginsabout an hour 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 Stewartabout an hour ago in Fiction
To Company Men & Coporate Mythologies
The most important thing you can own is a strong sense of smell. Melody knew the exact tensile strength of the glass that separated her from the street. She had tested it - and been tested by it. Over time, she had learned the exact depths of the moral bankruptcy of the men who stood behind it. She crossed Security with her key/ID card - and scaled the high-rise in minutes. She heard the outspoken wind as the weight and force of the elevator car pushed the wind to the ground floor. The 41st floor was a wall of tempered glass encased in steel. The floor stunk of a thin, quiet desperation and the very same bankruptcy from the elevator bank to her cubicle - but, on the surface, she only smelled the freshly shampooed carpet.
By James L. Royerabout an hour 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 Algiebaabout an hour 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 Haasabout 2 hours ago in Fiction
Taxed to Death
Biggest scam there is, being taxed for money you make, then taxed again for things you buy, then taxed again for things you were already taxed for. This is government overreach. Imagine all the people with hidden assets, how will you ensure they pay their due taxes?
By Sid Aaron Hirjiabout 2 hours 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 Algiebaabout 2 hours ago in Fiction