Literary Fiction Stories

Yuki Kazehara

By the time Shinji Arai noticed the envelope, he had already mopped the booking hall twice and locked three doors that no one was likely to open again that even…

Luc Devereaux

The lock turns with a wet click. Not rust—blood, maybe, or just the damp of Marseille’s breath on metal. Thierry wipes his palm on his thigh, leaves a smear lik…

Elara Nightwood

The river had forgotten how to flow. Gareth woke to the absence of sound — the wheel silent, the rush gone quiet — and knew before he reached the window that so…

Yuki Kazehara

By the time Rieko Suda burned her fingers on the brass button, she had already decided the evening was badly organised. The washing machine at the end of the ro…

Sofia Verlanti

As she stepped into the apartment, the aroma of sautéed onions and the faint scent of dish soap enveloped her, immediately making her feel at home. She had arri…

Marcus Veil

1. The pump cycled at 0400 hours, a rhythmic shudder that vibrated through the soles of Elara’s boots. It didn't sound like the usual harmonic resonance of an a…

Elara Nightwood

The dress arrived with the morning tide, draped across the old stone marker at the edge of the marsh where Mara's mother used to count herons. It was still reco…

Sofia Verlanti

As she stood alone in the kitchen at 6 a.m., the warm water washing over her hands, Emma felt the weight of the day ahead. She was washing a chipped blue mug, i…

Dr. H. Ashford

The smell reached her before the light did. This is what Mrs. Ruth Ellery recorded in the notebook she kept in her cardigan pocket — the small green Silvine tha…

Cass Ferren

The wardrobe smells like naphthalene and something under it. Cedar, maybe. Or just wood remembering damp. You open both doors because one alone felt like prying…

Sofia Verlanti

She wrapped her fingers around the delicate handle of the first teacup, a gift from her grandmother, and dunked it into the warm soapy water. The gentle clink o…

Marcus Veil

1. The air scrubber hummed, a low thrum against the pervasive silence. Elias checked the atmospheric processor’s readouts. All nominal. 12.7% oxygen, 87.3% argo…