Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
The Letter I Never Meant to Open
I had always believed my life was ordinary. I worked at a small bookstore, went home to my tiny apartment, and rarely spoke to anyone outside my circle. But everything changed the day I found that letter. It wasn’t hidden, exactly. It was leaning against my apartment door, with my name written in a careful, almost familiar hand. There was no return address. Curiosity pried it open before I could even think twice. Inside was a single page, filled with messy handwriting: "I know what happened that night. I’ve been trying to tell you for years. Meet me at the old pier at 7 tonight if you want answers." I froze. My heart thudded. What night? Years ago, when I was seventeen, my best friend, Clara, disappeared for two days. She came back, shaken, never speaking of what happened. I had forgotten that night—or maybe I had buried it deep in my mind. I debated ignoring the letter, thinking it might be a prank. But something in me—a long-lost curiosity, or perhaps guilt—pushed me out the door. The city air felt colder than usual, each step echoing in the empty streets as I walked toward the pier. When I arrived, the sun was just dipping below the horizon. And there she was—Clara. Older, changed, but unmistakable. She looked at me, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. "You came," she said softly. "I… I don’t understand," I stammered. She handed me a small box. Inside, I found an old photograph of the two of us, taken on the day she disappeared, and a tiny key. "Do you remember the treehouse by the river?" she asked. I nodded. It had been our secret place, where we hid from the world, told secrets, and dreamed of escaping to distant lands. But that night, the treehouse had burned down. Clara had vanished, leaving me alone to face the aftermath. "I didn’t disappear. I was trapped," she said, her voice breaking. She explained that she had fallen into an old underground storage space beneath the treehouse—an accident—and had been unable to call for help. No one could find her. I felt my knees weaken. Years of silence, of wondering, of guilt, all leading to this. She reached for my hand. "I wrote to you because I need to make things right. There’s something you don’t know." She handed me a folded note. Inside was another secret—a confession she had never dared to share. The night the treehouse burned, she had accidentally started the fire while trying to fix the old wiring. She had been too afraid to tell anyone. I had blamed myself for not seeing her before the fire, for leaving her alone—but it was never my fault. I stared at her, the weight of years melting away in one breath. Relief. Anger. Love. Forgiveness. All at once. We sat there for hours, talking about everything we had never said, filling in the missing years. I realized that life had given me a gift—not just the truth, but the chance to reconnect. By the time the moon rose high above the pier, Clara and I had made a silent promise: never to let fear or guilt keep us apart again. When I walked home that night, the city looked different. Brighter. Full of possibilities. And I knew, deep down, that sometimes the answers you seek come in the most unexpected ways—and that some letters are never meant to be ignored.
By Wasif islamabout 22 hours ago in Fiction
Beginner's Luck: Growth 9
Fluke put on a strained toothy grin as his resonance flopped and fell apart a second time. "Here kid, come sit down before you hurt yourself." Parche pat the grass next to him, and Fluke came and flopped down beside him, and then adjusted himself so he sat with his legs crossed.
By Everett Scaifeabout 23 hours ago in Fiction
Beginner's Luck: Growth 8
Fluke pulled out one of the Fuscia resonant shards and held it in his hand. This shard immediately vibrated and behaved almost unstable despite having not been mistreated in any way. Putting a small amount of resonance into the shard this one behaved much like the Cobalt shard. The only notable difference was that this shard let out a barely audible musical note, similar to water rubbed on the rim of a wine glass. And again, after a minute, the shard returned itself to the pouch, which prompted Fluke to check his information.
By Everett Scaifeabout 23 hours ago in Fiction
The Last Days
The Last Days Part I Kinsley clutched her throat and began squeezing harder and harder. As Lacy lay on the ground dreaming of mermaids. She couldn’t help but wonder as her mind drifted to darkness. The night grew silent, as Lacy lay on the ground lifeless.
By Charelle Landersabout 24 hours ago in Fiction
Beginner's Luck: Growth 6
Mining stone was not fun. Even with his divine blessings and the use of resonance, the stone before him seemed to resist all of his efforts. It didn't help that Mason didn't seem to want to help at all in the process, and only continued to stare at him. Taking a moment to breath and assess his progress Fluke had an epiphany. If wood required a chopping action and wide blade, perhaps stone needed a different type of resonant focus in order to get results. Using insight and his focus, he looked at how the energy seemed to surround the pickaxe head. The energy was rounded and smooth, and when he swung the tool, the energy almost resisted his efforts when it made contact with the stone. He examined the outcropping before him:
By Everett Scaifea day ago in Fiction
Beginner's Luck: Growth 5
The Librarian walked away without another word to Fluke or Q or the Derboul. The tension driving a wedge between the apprentice and master. Fluke didn't call after him, instead he too walked in the opposite direction. He quickly grabbed his bag of supplies and then gave Q a command to watch over their prisoner. Fuming as he marched away, his mind raced with thoughts, questions, and frustrations.
By Everett Scaifea day ago in Fiction
Ra'ad Does Not Dwell in Time
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 LAYTHa day ago in Fiction
Beginner's Luck: Growth 4
Fluke watched the wounded Derboul with rapt curiousity. The beast was terrifying to behold, yet at the same time, it seemed to be a vegetarian. Even when they provided fish it seemed to eat it sparingly. The hulking mass of alien warrior screamed carnivore or predator, and yet here it was hungrily devouring anything plant based. Fluke looked up at his mentor, who was just staring at the outsider with arms crossed. His facial expression was hidden behind his mask, but no facial expression was needed: the intensity and rigid body language may as well have been the Librarian shouting at the top of his lungs.
By Everett Scaifea day ago in Fiction
Beginner's Luck: Growth 2
On their way to the beach, they stopped and interacted with the non-sentients in the village. After a brief exchange between the Librarian, the four of them happily gathered some tools, a collapsible work bench, and some provisions before hurrying off to the clearing. Fluke looked up into the sky and noticed that despite him already having eaten lunch it wasn't quite mid-day. Even with more than half a day's worth of daylight he had no idea how they would be able to process the wood and finish a house. Perhaps it was another part of the magic of living in a rift world.
By Everett Scaifea day ago in Fiction
