Fiction

Fiction

I needed a paycheck a lot more than I needed to be kissed.

Story of the Week

The tree was shaggy and it bore scars of shrapnel from the war.

Story of the Week

The guards ripped off Mara’s clothes, pinning her head against the wall.

Fiction

The chocolate was old, dusty white, the way chocolate gets after many years.

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Winter Contest Winners

She remembers that golden ocean, the promise of a whole new land.

Story of the Week

There was something in her voice, some awful, enduring fire.

Fiction

If he’d had that seat belt on, he would have been pinned inside.

Winter Contest Winners

Our life is fine as it is, she would say to him, and it seemed true.

Six-Word Stories

The author reflects on a soldier‘s experience, in just six words.

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Story of the Week

Mostly he was in a hurry, so he’d just stick it in and away we’d go.

Story of the Week

From the flight deck Gray could see home, wherever that might be.

Story of the Week

Since his mother’s fall, Ali had been stopping by every week to help out.

Fiction

Why did it take Steven’s small coffin to get me to see my own son?

Fiction

The first time I met you I fought your father in the driveway.

Story of the Week

The old man drinks some more liquor and whacks down two trees.

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Story of the Week

Go came up with the idea that all things were part of a good conspiracy.

Story of the Week

I was thinking sex, she was thinking sex, but neither of us made a move.

Fiction

“It was not wartime sentiment that moved me to ask you here.”

Fiction

He longed only for Claire’s strange seriousness, her silent focus.

Story of the Week

Tony’d had guns pulled on him more times than he had toes.

Story of the Week

It is our first time, both of ours. This sentence ends with hate myself.

Fiction

He fell to the floor and begged the gods. The gods were silent.

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Fiction

Karen was, in that moment, nothing, emptiness. She was oblivion.

Story of the Week

Even before bills and rent and adultery—you don’t sleep well.

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Classics

I had the tongue of an adder and my heart was black with rage and hate.

Fiction

We are like a village here, separated from the rest of the world.

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Fiction

He was gentle and slow, like a blind man washing dishes.

Fiction

Poems and stories are the whisperings of angels we cannot see.

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Story of the Week

Their mother was the real beauty of the family, or so everyone said.

iStories

Howard found himself dancing the merengue with a buxom Puerto Rican.