Latest Stories
Most recently published stories 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 Shamburger3 days ago in Fiction
Please don't go
He looked at me, I looked at him. When he looked at me, it felt like my stomach was invaded with butterflies, but... not this time. At this very moment his eyes could laser through my stomach if he wanted to. I wish he did. For the pain of what he is about to say to me, is much worse than a couple of seconds of my stomach being lasered off. His sweet lips that spoke words in my ears, that made my face flush with red. I could predict the next words coming out of those pretty lips. "I can't bare the silent game, SPEAK JUST SAY IT ALREADY" I thought impatiently.
By C⃣ h⃣ a⃣ n⃣ e⃣ l⃣3 days ago in Fiction
Ghost Kitten Rise
There is another world that exists parallel to our own. It sits right beside us, and above us, and below us, and all around us, yet we never see it, and only very few of us ever sometimes feel it. That feeling may come as a cold chill, or a whisper from an empty room, or a tingle running down the spine, or any of a million other barely noticed disturbances to our ordinary everyday lives. We only notice because the feeling is so non-ordinary, so different from what we expect and are used to. Some people call it the spirit world, or another dimension or heaven or hell, but the name is not important, at least not for purposes of this story. What is important to understand about this other world is that it is inhabited by many creatures, some of which are formerly living beings from our own planet earth. Most people refer to these as ghosts, and they are feared by the still living. Some of these ghosts should be feared, but others are innocent and kind, even helpful to the living. There are other things in that world that are much more fearsome than the former living. They are natives of that world, and it is all they have ever known. However, they also know of the ghosts, and they know they come from another place. They very much desire to know what this other place is, where it is, and how to get there. They wish to conquer that world, our world, and make it their own. The reasons for this are not understood and there may be no reason, at least not one we could ever hope to comprehend. For countless millennia these beings have waited and watched and plotted and planned and made attempt after attempt to breach into our world.
By Everyday Junglist3 days ago in Fiction
The Feather That Fell Back
They say he flew away with wings of cleverness and wax, leaving Crete behind like a cage he finally outsmarted. They say his mind was unmatched—that Daedalus was born to rise above men, to carve the air itself into a pathway of freedom.
By Oluremi Adeoye 3 days ago in Fiction
The Legend Of El Dorado
For centuries, humanity has remained captive to the mesmerizing glow of gold. Throughout history, this precious metal has driven nations to war, kings to madness, and explorers to the ends of the earth. Yet, within the annals of history, there exists a name that sparked more obsession than any other — El Dorado. This was the legendary city said to have streets paved with gold, palaces covered in pure sheets of the precious metal, and a king who dusted his entire body with gold powder before diving into a sacred lake. It was the ultimate dream of wealth, a mirage that lured thousands to their doom.
By Literary fusion3 days ago in Fiction
The Last Train Home. AI-Generated.
A cold wind moved slowly across the platform, carrying the faint smell of rain and rusted metal. The dim yellow lights above flickered as if they were tired after a long day. Daniel sat alone on a wooden bench, his small suitcase resting beside him.
By Waleed khan3 days ago in Fiction
Guard Your Battery, Lose Your Humanity
I used to think my phone was my lifeline. In Amsterdam, where rain slicks the cobblestones and bikes fly by like they're late for something important, my screen was the one constant: notifications buzzing through tram rides, endless scrolls while waiting for koffie at a brown café, quick checks at red lights on the Keizersgracht. It felt safe. Controlled. Connected. Until it didn't. By early 2026, I was exhausted in a way sleep couldn't fix. My anxiety had crept up quietly — heart racing in crowds, that low hum of dread when the battery dipped below 20%. I blamed the city, the weather, work. But deep down, I knew the truth: I'd outsourced my presence to a rectangle in my pocket. I was here, but never really here. So on a drizzly February morning, I made a rule that felt ridiculous: no phone in public for 30 days. Pocket, bag, or leave it at home — but never in hand when outside my apartment. If I needed directions or music, tough. The goal wasn't total detox; it was forcing myself to look up, be bored, and — if the moment felt right — talk to someone. One stranger conversation a day if it happened naturally. No forcing, just availability. What broke first was the fidgeting. Days 1–10: The Withdrawal Hits Hard The first week was brutal. At the Albert Cuyp Market, my hand kept reaching for my pocket like a phantom limb. Without the screen to hide behind, every line felt exposed. I noticed things I'd ignored for years: the way an old man feeds pigeons near the Nieuwmarkt, the precise rhythm of bike bells, the smell of fresh stroopwafels mixing with canal water. I also noticed people. Everyone else was doing what I'd been doing — heads down, thumbs moving. On the 2 tram toward Centraal, a carriage full of silent faces lit by blue light. No one spoke. No one looked up. It hit me: we're all in our own little bubbles, floating through the same beautiful city. By day 5, boredom turned into restlessness. Waiting for coffee at a spot on the Prinsengracht, I had nothing to do but watch. A woman in a red coat struggled with her umbrella in the wind. Our eyes met. She laughed first. "This weather," she said. I replied, "It builds character, right?" We chatted for two minutes about nothing — the rain, the best waterproof jackets. It felt awkward, electric, alive. That tiny exchange cracked something open. My anxiety didn't vanish, but it lost its grip for a moment. Days 11–20: The City Starts Talking Back Halfway through, the experiment shifted from punishment to curiosity.
By Shoaib Afridi3 days ago in Fiction
