Short Story

“You’re so talented,” they said. “You see things other people miss. You should be an artist.”   Well, some people said so. Not everyone. Certainly not her parents. “You’ll struggle,” they said. “The term’s ‘starving artist’ for a reason.”   But Constance hadn’t listened. She’d mixed her pigments and created art—bright swirls that breathed, bold lines that sang, and bursts of color that seemed to pulse with life.   She’d quickly found success: a showing at a prestigious galler

When Joshua McAvoy storms out of the lawyer’s office with nothing but a battered journal, it seems his grandfather’s will has torn the...

WARNING: DARK THEMES (AGAIN) This short story dives into the shadows of domestic abuse, manipulation, and quiet revenge. Homemade Justice...

The stream at the bottom of the garden has no name and appears on no map.

Nightshade stirred, opening a single saucer-sized eye. Steam wafted from his nostrils as he scrambled from the cave, centuries of claw gouges defining his path. 

Not six months out of the Reaper Academy and already my scythe had died...

What happens when a rock god with a god complex loses everything but his own echo? Even before the last screeching echoes of guitar died...

When author Kelsey Critchett discovers her pirate ancestor Captain Flora Critchett’s journal hidden within the walls of her ancestral...

The Story Prompt He’d tracked her across tundra, across scrub forest and frozen muskeg. He’d tracked her till his fingers ached and his...

So imagine my surprise when I opened my eyes to find the dark-robed figure of Death standing over me, not smelling anything like rotting garbage. Or sickly sweetness. In fact, Death didn’t smell like anything at all.

Snow looks magical… until you have to shovel it off your roof.

Once, I had no toys—except the things people threw at us.