Stories
Story of the Week
It is our first time, both of ours. This sentence ends with hate myself.
Classics
They had separate rooms, like passengers on a fading boat.
Fiction
Karen was, in that moment, nothing, emptiness. She was oblivion.
Fiction
Love is trickling into Lady’s heart where usually there is only fear.
Narrative High School Writing Contest
“Even though we aren’t carrying out the deed, we are the most responsible.”
Story of the Week
Even before bills and rent and adultery—you don’t sleep well.
Classics
I had the tongue of an adder and my heart was black with rage and hate.
Fiction
The first time I met you I fought your father in the driveway.
Story of the Week
It’s just a great big old world with Santa and angels all around.
Story of the Week
‘Isn’t this great?’ she said. ‘A bit of peace for ourselves?’
‘No one could go into a cafe on their own on Christmas Day.’
Story of the Week
Their mother was the real beauty of the family, or so everyone said.
Fiction
Please, Theresa thought, as a tenderness surged within herself.
Fiction
The problem with my mother is that she thinks everyone a fool.
Story of the Week
I tried mightily, but no longer could I ladle those ancient words into the air.
Fiction
The pillow into which her face was turned muffled her voice.
Story of the Week
I didn’t trust her. Relationships like ours aren’t built on trust.
Story of the Week
A bird is chirping outside, the world is carrying on, and she is in it.
Story of the Week
Children are never old enough to understand their parents’ affairs.
Fiction
There was a glint of cold red light out there, on the other shore of the lake.
N30B Winners
Your soul feels old and familiar like a book that opens to my favorite pages.
Story of the Week
He’s weirdly hard to pay attention to, even when he’s threatening you.
Fiction
Suddenly, all of the past seemed now like the same endless race.
Story of the Week
Sleepy and pensive, July succumbed to the day’s isolating heat.
Story of the Week
I have given everything at the wrong time, to the wrong people.
Story of the Week
I do not want to fall prey to the bewitchment of my mind by language.
Fiction
I hadn’t always liked being around my mother while she was alive.
Story of the Week
Tobacco and dirty wool, rank alcoholic sweat. I liked him right away.
Story of the Week
Ah, yes, Rita reminded herself: I won. Her Mistress of Mayhem award.
