Short Story

A Garden of Broken Clocks
The day began like any other. From the window of his third-floor apartment, Martin watched the street below: a quiet line of parked cars, a lone delivery cyclist weaving through the early morning fog, and the familiar hum of the city awakening. The smell of bread from the bakery across the road mixed with the faint, lingering smoke of a neighbor’s wood stove. Martin sipped his coffee slowly, watching the steam curl into the air, a small, temporary comfort before the hours unfolded.
By Algiebaabout 21 hours ago in Fiction
Human Resources
As Director of Human Resources for the entire facility, Helen had overseen more retirement parties than she could count. She was familiar enough with protocol that she no longer required the checklist in the appendix of the manager’s handbook, but used it anyway, in strict adherence to company policy. During her morning workout, she’d gone through the list in her head a hundred times, but seeing it printed out in black and white always brought a tangibility to the whole affair. She’d gone down to the kitchen herself to pick up the cake, rendering the cafeteria silent as she rolled the confection, red-velvet encased in featureless white fondant, as well as the requisite cutlery on a cart past ranks of seated workers on her way upstairs to the Accounts Receiving Department. Everyone knew what it meant.
By J. Otis Haasabout 21 hours ago in Fiction
The Bell That Doesn’t Ring
No one checked the clock in Marrow Street anymore. There was one, of course—high on the brick tower at the end of the road, its white face cracked like dry porcelain, its black hands frozen at 3:17. It had stopped years ago, though no one remembered when. Still, people looked at it sometimes, out of habit, like glancing at a sky that no longer held weather.
By Algiebaabout 22 hours ago in Fiction
The Grace of the Unspoken
The morning began, as it always did, with the rhythmic scraping of the kettle against the iron stove. Elias didn't speak to the water as it began to boil, nor did he hum to the chill that had settled into the kitchen corners over the night. He simply moved.
By sasaabout 22 hours ago in Fiction
The Walk
You can do this. You can totally do this. You made it this far. Her own steps, echoing on the encased pebbles that made up the sidewalk, were making her uneasy. Lisa clutched her hands around the stroller's handle. Her knuckles flashed white.
By Sasha Desideriabout 22 hours ago in Fiction
The Call That Came Before It Happened
Daniel never believed in things he couldn’t explain. Ghosts, premonitions, “signs from the universe” all of it sounded like excuses people used when life didn’t make sense.
By Farooq Hashmiabout 23 hours ago in Fiction
Trust, Undone
I trusted her with everything—passwords, plans, parts of myself I hid from everyone else. She learned it all, then used it when leaving paid better than loving. I didn’t chase. I sat, realizing betrayal doesn’t start with them—it starts the moment you hand someone knife.
By Aarsh Malikabout 23 hours ago in Fiction
Finding Gold
The figure sprints down the cobbled alleyway, around the corner and onto the dusty track leading out of town. Ahead, a narrow isthmus pinches the path to half its previous width, but there is no chance for slowing, it is all or nothing now, and the man keeps up his pace, his blue cape flying behind him. On the far side, where the track runs along the top of an open stretch of sand, pieces of gold and spilled gemstones glisten in the sun, easy pickings if you can take the time to swerve away from the sturdier ground above beach. Conner makes his decision fast and holds his line. Riches will have to wait until he is out of shooting range of the archer.
By Hannah Moorea day ago in Fiction
The Gardener and His White Crane: A Tale of Regret
The Gardener and His White Crane: A Tale of Regret Once, in a small, quiet village, there lived an elderly man who spent every waking hour in his garden. To the rest of the world, he was just a gardener, but to him, the trees and flowers were his family. He had planted most of them with his own hands decades ago, and he knew the personality of every single plant. His garden was the most beautiful place in the entire region a lush, green sanctuary where the air always smelled like jasmine and damp earth.
By Amir Husena day ago in Fiction
The Voice Inside the Walls
When Imran moved into the apartment, everything seemed perfect. Affordable rent. Quiet neighborhood. Clean rooms. It felt like a fresh start.
By Salman Writesa day ago in Fiction
Ra'ad Does Not Dwell in Time . Content Warning.
Ra'ad Does Not Dwell in Time By luccian layth Here collapses a corner of events — purely narrative, risen from the drain of our old house's gutter, seeping into the channels of a despondent city. Dark of atmosphere. Wretched to look upon. Like an old grey woman the ages have ruined, her sides ulcerated, spoiled like dried apple where worms have long since finished their work and moved on to something equally forgettable.
By LUCCIAN LAYTH2 days ago in Fiction
Let The Sleeping Lie
Games of dare and fairytales skim lines not to be crossed Pirate ships in heavy gales where storylines get tossed Witches brew and curses flow
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden2 days ago in Fiction