Holiday
The Mansion
The rain beat against the mansion. A pair of headlights cut through the rain. The limo pulled into the driveway. The chauffer opened the door and out stepped Barbara Homestead, a reporter for the Supernatural Tattler.” She wore simple attire: a blue blouse, brown jacket, blue jeans, and brown platform shoes. She was a woman of her time and that time was the 1990’s. The year was officially 1995. Vietnam had just ended. The date was October 1st. She needed plenty of time before Halloween to get her story published. She used the garage door knocker and waited for a reply. She heard footsteps on linoleum.
By DJ Robbinsabout an hour ago in Fiction
The Morning My Reflection Disappeared
I thought it was just another Saturday. Alarm at 7:00 a.m., the tail end of some weird dream I’d already forgotten, and that familiar battle between “I could sleep more” and “I’ll hate Monday if I do.” I stuck to the plan, got up, stretched, and let the sunlight hit my face like it always does on weekends.
By abualyaanart3 days ago in Fiction
Someone Keeps Swiping Right on My Dating Profile
I downloaded the dating app two weeks after Valentine’s Day. Not because I was ready to date again. Mostly because my friends wouldn’t stop telling me to “get back out there.” My last relationship ended badly, and February had been miserable enough already.
By V-Ink Stories4 days ago in Fiction
The Last Round Before Sunrise
The group had been bar-hopping since early evening. St. Patrick’s Day had turned the whole downtown area into a blur of green shirts, plastic shamrocks, and loud music pouring from every open doorway. By midnight, most of the popular bars were packed shoulder-to-shoulder.
By V-Ink Stories4 days ago in Fiction
Echoes of Resistance
The streets of Bristol were alive that day, though not with the usual hum of buses and chatter, but with the heavy pulse of voices that demanded to be heard. I had not intended to join the protest—I came to observe, to write, to bear witness—but once I stepped into the swell of people, the energy was impossible to ignore. The banners waved above heads, each one a story, a demand, a prayer. The scent of rain-soaked asphalt mixed with the faint tang of chalk from hastily scrawled messages, leaving the air electric.
By imtiazalam7 days ago in Fiction
A Christmas Carol
I was going through some old documents I had when I came across this. I wrote it for somebody I cared about a few years ago. She loved the Christmas Carol Story but brought up that she wished things turned out better for Scrooge and Belle. So I wrote an ending that met that criteria. This person isn't around anymore so instead of this collecting dust I figured you could have it. Hope you enjoy!
By Donny Foley14 days ago in Fiction
Eggshells
Margaret Whitlock was known as the best artist in the sleepy town of Greystone. Her specialty was Easter egg sculptures—delicate, intricate creations painted with painstaking detail. Each egg was a marvel, depicting pastoral scenes, mythical creatures, and swirling patterns so fine they seemed almost alive. Every Easter, people from all over flocked to her gallery to admire and buy her work.
By V-Ink Stories20 days ago in Fiction
Sadie Sunshine
Sadie Sunshine always had a smile on her face and she lived in the magic village of Emerald Springs. The houses changed their colors based on the holiday. On Valentine’s Day houses would change to blue, white, or red. On Easter the houses are robins’ egg blue or bright yellow. They would be red, white, and blue on the fourth of July. They turn orange and black for Halloween. On Christmas the houses would turn not only red or green, some of them become blue or white to look like frozen ice crystals. The sheen of a crystal blue or white house in the winter time looked so pretty that remembering them filled Sadie’s heart with joy.
By DJ Robbins27 days ago in Fiction
