Short Story
The Ice Slick: An Apology
Dear Montréal, Well, this has been a fun two days. Ha, ha. Sorry, I am not well-known for my sense of humour. Often I have been told that I should mind my own business and know my place. Offensive, yes, but I can understand the sentiment. But I needed to vent a little before the season was over. I often feel that you do not appreciate what I give you every summer, and that winter is the price you gotta pay.
By Kendall Defoe about 2 hours ago in Fiction
Talking Through the Grapevine
Theseus sighed as he picked up a stone and threw it into the ocean. Usually, he would be able to make it skip for at least ten times, even if he was having a bad day. But whether it was because he was sitting on the sand or he just didn’t care, the stone sank with a single plop a half mile away.
By Rebecca Pattonabout 4 hours ago in Fiction
Cheap Talk
"You're breathing like a bear," Koff said coolly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she bowed over her book. Vella leaned over the counter, taking the pressure off her lower back. She'd worked a shift and a half already and no one had come in for the last hour, meaning this torture wasn't going to end until dawn. At least it was empty. Mostly empty. It was just she and Koff. One on either side of the register like it mattered. Employee and customer. Ha ha.
By Silver Dauxabout 6 hours ago in Fiction
Quiet Armageddon
“The price of oil has now reached over one hundred dollars a barrel. The highest it has been since twenty twenty-two.” Sylvia half-listened to the voice on the radio as she turned into the Tesco car park. She was more concerned with remembering what she actually needed: cat litter, milk, and probably bread.
By J.B. Millerabout 6 hours ago in Fiction
XVAR
Introduction The letters “VAXR” came into my head and I thought how could that be a story? I then rearranged them to “XVAR” because I thought that VAXR was close to Vaxxer and that might cause ructions with COVID anti-vaxxers. However, I think everyone who can be safely vaccinated should be vaccinated, I know so many people who have been affected by and frightened by the effects of COVID that I believe I should do everything I can to stop the spread of the virus, but that is way off the target of this piece of fiction. However, the end could be the same.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred about 6 hours ago in Fiction
Kitsune's Intervention: A Very Inconvenient Yokai
"I'm telling you, Christie, he is CHEATING on you!" She sighed hard. "Min... I know you think that, but Darryl would never cheat. He is so thoughtful and so, so loyal. He is just the absolute sweetest. I lucked out so hard marrying him. It feels like a dream."
By Alicia Anspaughabout 6 hours ago in Fiction
The Android Detective: Help Wanted
Vesper Lyra leaned her lanky frame into the door to push through the entrance lacking working electronics. A simple, painted sign in a boring and nondescript font announced that one would find a Clyde Sharpman, P.D. inside. Among the bright lights, vibrantly coloured signs, and announcements everywhere else on Wetwater Street, how she even noticed the place was a mystery. Not to mention the roughly cut-out cardboard sign in the unit’s dirty window advertising that the private detective, Clyde Sharpman, wanted help.
By Jean-François Lamotheabout 6 hours ago in Fiction
The 5pm Train to Nowhere
This was never supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. But it had. And here I was, trying to squeeze the straps on my suitcase back shut after having had to open it for a phone charger. I should have grabbed something else too, another bag, but I hadn’t been thinking clearly.
By Phoenixica24about 8 hours ago in Fiction
The Midnight Alley: The Boy Who Called His Killer “Dad”
Lightning cracked overhead as Detective Lena Carter’s boots splashed through the rain-slicked alley. The call had come just moments ago—a child was hurt, and the storm didn’t care. Narrow walls of brick reflected the flickering light from a struggling streetlamp, puddles trembling under each flash. On the wet ground lay a boy, twelve years old, eyes wide in final surprise, blood glimmering in crimson streams across the cracks beneath him. Clutched in his small, trembling fingers was a soaked scrap of paper. Carter leaned close, throat tight: the letters D_A_ smeared by rain.
By imtiazalamabout 8 hours ago in Fiction
