Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Fiction.

The Devil is in The Details
My crisp, blue hiking boots steadily carry me up the hill. A light mist and subtle darkness have descended upon the land. The vividly grey moon smiles down on every living thing in these enchanting woods. Blankets of dazzling stars cover me tightly, sending a warm, loving, fuzzy feeling down my spine.
By Lolly Vieira4 days ago in Fiction
A Canary Down The Coal Pit
A Canary Down The Coal Pit Long ago, when coal mines were deep, dark places and safety equipment was very simple, miners took a small yellow canary down into the coal pit with them. To someone who had never worked underground, it might seem strange that a tiny bird would travel with tough men carrying picks and lamps. But the reason was deadly serious.
By George’s Girl 2026 4 days ago in Fiction
The Fire Dragon
When the modest farming village of Dene came into view, Sir Ravenholt leaned over and petted the long neck of his corser, Moss. A double click and soft heels brought the horse to a steady trot.
By Jean-François Lamothe4 days ago in Fiction
In Chinatown, I Saw the Truth About Survival. AI-Generated.
When I first started working in Chinatown, Manhattan, I thought it was only a temporary stop. Just a job. Just a way to pay rent while I searched for something better in New York City.
By Jenny 4 days ago in Fiction
Where Mia Went. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
I sometimes wonder what Mia thought in the last moment before she disappeared. No phone. No messages. No contact.
By REalLLy2254 days ago in Fiction
Because of My Accent, I Finally Saw How Cruel Reality Could Be. AI-Generated.
When I first arrived in New York City, I believed something that now feels embarrassingly naïve. I believed that effort could overcome everything.
By Jenny 4 days ago in Fiction
I Finally Understood What “Work Experience” Really Means. AI-Generated.
When I first came to New York City, I believed in a very simple idea: If you worked hard, life would eventually reward you.
By Jenny 4 days ago in Fiction
I Came to New York with Hope, but Reality Almost Broke Me. AI-Generated.
The first thing I noticed when the plane landed at John F. Kennedy International Airport was the cold. It was early November. The sky outside the airport windows looked gray and endless, like a piece of iron.
By Jenny 4 days ago in Fiction
First Taste of Loneliness in New York. AI-Generated.
The subway screeched to a halt, and Mei sat in her usual corner seat, staring blankly at the empty cars around her. Usually, the morning commute in New York was a riot of bodies, smells, and conversations, a living rhythm that reminded her she was part of something bigger. Today, the train was silent except for the mechanical hum of the tracks.
By Peter4 days ago in Fiction
The Survival Battle of a New York Delivery Rider. AI-Generated.
Rain pelted the streets of Manhattan like sharp hail, bouncing off the asphalt with an almost musical intensity. The sky had turned a steely gray, the kind of color that seeps into your bones, chilling you before the wind even hits. Marco tightened the straps on his insulated delivery backpack and squinted through the sheets of water. He could barely see three feet ahead.
By Peter4 days ago in Fiction
The Invisible Battlefield of a Janitor. AI-Generated.
The elevator chimed and hissed, opening to a hallway thick with the smell of bleach and fear. Luis wiped his gloved hands on his faded uniform and looked down the corridor of the midtown apartment building. The fluorescent lights flickered above, casting shadows that seemed almost alive against the peeling wallpaper. The lobby below, usually buzzing with tenants and visitors, was silent. For the past few months, ever since the city had been gripped by the COVID-19 pandemic, silence had replaced life in the building.
By Peter4 days ago in Fiction
Just a Slice of Life
I. The Morning Light Sunlight flooded the loft, catching the salt-and-pepper of my close-cropped hair as I lay in bed, weighing the question of identity. I am a large man—6'2" and 220 pounds—with a face usually framed by a goatee and mustache. I move through the world quietly, a private observer who finds peace in the simple sight of people enjoying their lives. I’m easygoing until I see the vulnerable—children or seniors—disrespected. That’s the Southern stock in me. My parents moved from the South to Southern California with nothing but a relentless work ethic, and their legacy is the lens through which I see myself.
By Jeffrey Lewis Shamburger4 days ago in Fiction