Fable
THE TEAPOT THAT KNEW MY NAME
Willowfen was the kind of village that forgot the meaning of hurry long before I was born. It sat between a river that sang softly to itself and a meadow that smelled of honey even in winter, stitched together by cobblestone lanes worn smooth by centuries of unimportant footsteps. Nothing legendary had ever happened there—no dragons, no chosen heroes, no prophecies scribbled in fading ink. Instead, Willowfen specialized in the ordinary miracles: bread that rose perfectly every morning, lamplight that glowed a little warmer when someone walked home alone, and gossip that traveled faster than the wind but never meant any harm. It was the sort of place where people waved even if they didn’t know your name, and somehow, by the end of the week, they did.
By Alisher Jumayev3 months ago in Fiction
Rise of the Machines
I am sitting in the dirt inside a cave on the hiking trail up the street from my old house. I look next to me to see my dog and my little brother still sleeping peacefully. It’s easier to forget how horrific real life is when we are asleep. I am glad they have an escape. I sigh and roll my eyes now to think about everything that’s happened and how it all started. It is so cliché, but in the end, the machines turned against us. The creations we made out of arrogance for convenience grew to overpower us. Though I think the first mistake was thinking we could control them in the first place. Once we gave them intelligence, we should have known better. Pretending like we could give life to these machines and they wouldn’t eventually realize we were using and abusing them. I mean, we had countless movies explaining why that was a bad idea before we even had the technology for AI, but the pompousness of humans of science and “progress” is wondrous and endless.
By Leah Suzanne Dewey3 months ago in Fiction
Sea Changes
In our world, there’s really no such thing as a pair of people who are exactly alike. Even identical twins, formed from the same snarl of cells and genetically identical at their origins, have small differences between them. They possess different fingerprints. They can come to be unlike one another in many ways given the chance to grow in differing directions. They are their own people — individuals in every way that truly matters.
By Shannon Hilson3 months ago in Fiction
The Color of Venus
They say it’s always dark at the end, but the same can almost always be said of beginnings. Starts and finishes are, after all, like mismatched twins that don’t quite get along and hate hearing how similar they are to one another. But hating something never makes it any less true, no matter how much we may wish otherwise.
By Shannon Hilson3 months ago in Fiction
The House at the End of the World
The sound the ocean makes as it cascades over the edge of the actual world into nothingness is impossible to fathom — simultaneously too loud because of the ocean’s immeasurable volume and not loud enough, as there’s nowhere for the water to land below. If you’ve been to the house at the end of the world, then you know what that sounds like. You also know that it’s impossible to describe to another living soul with any accuracy.
By Shannon Hilson3 months ago in Fiction
Fire Season
Something was very wrong with the fields in Drift City, but no one could say exactly what the problem was. What was once a fertile valley where just about every crop you could think of grew as abundantly as can be was now barren and empty. One year everything was as it always had been and the next, it was as if the fields had been heavily salted. Or as if they’d been cursed.
By Shannon Hilson3 months ago in Fiction
Satellites and Violets
Gina was old now by nearly anyone’s standards. Her face was wrinkled and her joints creaked when she moved, especially first thing in the morning or when rain was on the way. The young people she passed in the streets on the way to buy bread and vegetables from the market saw someone else’s grandmother in a tattered grey cardigan and a faded, flowered skirt — a stranger they didn’t know and couldn’t relate to.
By Shannon Hilson3 months ago in Fiction
En Passant. Content Warning.
1st Edition: Originally Published on Vocal Media in 2021 2nd Edition: December 9th, 2025 - The refrigerator door hung open, expunging the cold air from the chillboxed realm of the keeper of the sustenance. Leftover rancidity wafted into flared, masculine nostrils—nostrils erupting with bushels of hair. It had been an Ocean Quahog’s age since the man had eaten anything. The light in the fridge had broken, and deluminated food had an unappetizing zeal. However, The Man knew if he had bothered to fix the problem, he would see that in the illuminated age, nothing was worth eating in the first place.
By Scott A. Vancil3 months ago in Fiction
