Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
Her Favorite Flower
Her favorite flowers were marigolds. In those halcyon days of summer past, we would run through fields full of all manners of wild flowers, but with every marigold she spotted she would stop, stoop low and take a deep breath. I can still see her there, in that periwinkle blue sun dress, turning back to me with a look of pure exultation. Happy to simply be alive! I can see her there, in those drowsy, endless summers, laughing and squealing with delight, with the purest pleasure at the simple fact that we existed at the same time, the same place, and that there were marigolds there too. A little slice of her own personal heaven.
By David James5 years ago in Fiction
Yellow, Yellow, Yellow
The sun beat down hot and heavy in the sky, the shadows on the ground were slimming. He’d be here soon. Tree tops swayed in the breeze as the bees carried out their pollination. The meadow was small yet open. I ran my fingers through the thin blades of grass surrounding my feet, knees tucked under my chin.
By Miles Vaessen5 years ago in Fiction
The Lost Witch
There’s this feeling, that I cannot resist. When the sun delicately caresses you, and the breeze brushes past, rustling the trees on its way. The early stages of summer, when the cold is on its way out, and basking under the warmth of a rejuvenated sun is blissful.
By Ariane Torelli5 years ago in Fiction
The Flower of Flame
It was my 16th birthday. I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the unlit candles on my cake. My mom sat next to me, waiting for my grandma to arrive. I ran my fingers through my hair as we waited: it felt strange, having such short hair now. I’d gotten it cut yesterday, wanting to reinvent myself now that I was turning 16.
By Sephy Atlas5 years ago in Fiction
Dia de Los Muertos
NOTE: This story is based on true events dramatized to convey my crisis of identity. *** Purple, amber, and white flowers adorned the table like a garden club meeting. I cannot name them but know the colors. The sun faded over the horizon, and the shifting hues radiated its prisms onto the walls of my daughter's living room. I escaped the throng of people inside to find my thoughts in the backyard.
By J. S. Wade5 years ago in Fiction
Jiggle Jangle
Back when I was a little girl, around the age of eight, I think I would spend the night at my grandparents’ house whenever my parents worked late or needed some quiet time away. I loved going over to their house and spending the night. Hell, I think I asked every week to stay over, and I usually did. Being a parent now, I can understand why my parents appreciated some alone time away from me.
By Joseph T Stenberg5 years ago in Fiction
Saved By Grace. Third Place in SFS 3: Brown Paper Box Challenge.
I didn't know how to love my mother until she died. I’d gotten the call on a lazy Sunday afternoon. The home nurse said she’d found my number in my mother’s list of people to call when she passed. I thanked her for calling.
By Kemari Howell5 years ago in Fiction
The Shape-Shifting Swimmer
Stormy's long, lean, body bulleted through the water, her strong legs propelling her beyond the bay and into the open ocean. She knew her gift had to do with the sea- her grandmother always told her she was more salt than sugar and she had a feeling this wasn't just a jab at her temper. As the ocean floor dropped, Stormy slowed her pace. She looked toward her home, the island key of Sol, allowing herself a moment of contemplation before taking the plunge. Her dream last night told her what to do, but did she trust her magic well enough to take the dream seriously?
By Amanda Wilson5 years ago in Fiction
Bento Boxes
I didn’t hear the end of the world. I saw it though. Swirling masses of colour shifting across the screen of my ipad. Hurricanes first. Lots, and lots of hurricanes. It was the worst year for hurricanes on record. Then we had earthquakes, I felt them vibrating the house. Tsunamis followed by a few volcanic eruptions and a sudden drop in temperature. All in a perfect little span of less than a month. An apocalypse professionally gift wrapped, bow and all.
By Kelsey Reich5 years ago in Fiction
