Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
Home to the Owl. Runner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge.
When I was a child, the hazy golden summer days stretched on forever, woodland fairies drifted through the towering trees of ancient forests, the wind whipped up tidal waves of dust containing fierce monsters vanquishable only by mighty swords made from wooden sticks, and bedtime stories were told to us by an owl in blue moonlight.
By Brittany Moore4 years ago in Fiction
Hectic High School Days, Part I
I moved to New York two months ago, trapped in a U-haul truck with a million thoughts running through my head. I remember sneaking stares at my sister Georgia from the passenger's side. I watched her tears fall but didn't say a word. I remember our Mom saying that we couldn’t come back to our Tennessee home. My heart felt like a dozen knives just pierced through it. I was convinced that nothing will take away those memories of twirling in the blue grass, or watching myself grow from a southern babe to a rough-housing tomboy through the reflections in my mother's vintage full length mirror.
By Norma Jane4 years ago in Fiction
The Clairvoyant Artist. Runner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge.
Life holds endless possibilities for those that hope for something greater than their present reality of struggle and misery. If we dig deep enough we eventually come upon the keys that open the doors to our success and prosperity. But if we ever choose to stop digging then we accept defeat until we pick the shovel of hope back up. Many reach the grave never finding their set of keys. They tossed their shovels to the side and watched others dig. Some stop digging due to the influence of others or because they have lost vision and reason to continue. Yet there is always a small remnant within the crowd of diggers that never put down their shovels. With sweat on their brows and sore arms, they push until they have the ring of keys dangling in between their fingers. They prove victorious in a world full of defeat. Why? Because no matter how many breaks they took or how many times the shovel was tossed, they found a way to pick it back up and dig deeper.
By Ebony Burns4 years ago in Fiction
Chasing the Moon
It's December here in Minnesota, but the nights haven't managed to get so cold that I have to hole myself up. There were a few years after it happened and before I left that I'd gear myself up in snow pants and wrap a scarf so many times around my face only my eyes showed.
By Libby Walkup4 years ago in Fiction
Through The Night
I walked through the darkened halls, the candles that lined the massive walls would soon give way to the chilly air funneling through. The draft escaped through the grand tunnel that marked the way back to the more occupied area of my new home. What drew me this far, I could not tell, what feed my curiosity, I would not say; there were rumors of dark lore I dare not partake in, but they were only rumors, harmless to say the least. I wouldn't allow gossip to rule my life, nor creatures to send me running, so I kept walking.
By Latoya M.Delbridge 4 years ago in Fiction
An Angel in Disguise
Head down, beady eyes focused, Tyto took in a deep breath, enjoying the cold night air rushing through his lungs. Filling him with relief and binding him to reality for a brief moment. This was exactly what he lived for - A rush in the dark, and tonight he knew exactly what he needed to do.
By Josie Marie4 years ago in Fiction
Bird Cemetery
News 16th July Story of the day Madame La Fayette led her daughter by the hand as she struggled to break free from her mother's tight grip. The little girl was dressed in a barn owl costume, ready for her first ever stage performance. She ruffled up her feathers from pieces of brown-orange fabric sewn into the carboard by her mother. Mia felt that these feathers could lift her up to the sky, and her mother was just pulling her into the ground, which was not a pleasant experience. The other children were disguised as different birds, tempting with the colours of their feathers: the furious blue, green, yellow, and orange of peacocks and parrots; grey of pigeons; the brown shade of sparrows; and the black intensity of ravens. All the kids were just as excited as they were on their first day of school, except this time the stake was much nicer and funnier.
By Moon Desert4 years ago in Fiction
