#shortstories — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #shortstories, aggregated by home.social.
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Behind the Scenes: Part 3
Behind the Scenes with Our Latest Sketch Every page of a picture book starts with simple lines on paper. Before we worry about color, lighting, or final details, we use these initial drafts to figure out how a scene feels.I wanted to share this rough drawing from another scene we are working on. In our house, my kids like to spot the tiny details in these early sketches that sometimes change by the time the final book is printed. Rough Sketch from Sharing Kindness Wherever I Go Drafting […]https://heathercongrove.com/2026/09/05/behind-the-scenes-part-3/
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Behind the Scenes: Part 3
Behind the Scenes with Our Latest Sketch Every page of a picture book starts with simple lines on paper. Before we worry about color, lighting, or final details, we use these initial drafts to figure out how a scene feels.I wanted to share this rough drawing from another scene we are working on. In our house, my kids like to spot the tiny details in these early sketches that sometimes change by the time the final book is printed. Rough Sketch from Sharing Kindness Wherever I Go Drafting […]https://heathercongrove.com/2026/09/05/behind-the-scenes-part-3/
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Behind the Scenes: Part 3
Behind the Scenes with Our Latest Sketch Every page of a picture book starts with simple lines on paper. Before we worry about color, lighting, or final details, we use these initial drafts to figure out how a scene feels.I wanted to share this rough drawing from another scene we are working on. In our house, my kids like to spot the tiny details in these early sketches that sometimes change by the time the final book is printed. Rough Sketch from Sharing Kindness Wherever I Go Drafting […]https://heathercongrove.com/2026/09/05/behind-the-scenes-part-3/
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Behind the Scenes: Part 3
Behind the Scenes with Our Latest Sketch Every page of a picture book starts with simple lines on paper. Before we worry about color, lighting, or final details, we use these initial drafts to figure out how a scene feels.I wanted to share this rough drawing from another scene we are working on. In our house, my kids like to spot the tiny details in these early sketches that sometimes change by the time the final book is printed. Rough Sketch from Sharing Kindness Wherever I Go Drafting […]https://heathercongrove.com/2026/09/05/behind-the-scenes-part-3/
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Behind the Scenes: Part 3
Behind the Scenes with Our Latest Sketch Every page of a picture book starts with simple lines on paper. Before we worry about color, lighting, or final details, we use these initial drafts to figure out how a scene feels.I wanted to share this rough drawing from another scene we are working on. In our house, my kids like to spot the tiny details in these early sketches that sometimes change by the time the final book is printed. Rough Sketch from Sharing Kindness Wherever I Go Drafting […]https://heathercongrove.com/2026/09/05/behind-the-scenes-part-3/
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The Dreamers of the Fading Bloom – Newsletter #8
August 19, 2026 23rd Lore Fragment Clamores Corallii MortiferiClamores Corallii Mortiferi, better known as the "Deadly Coral Cries," is an event in which the seaside village of Corallvik experienced a large increase in activity from the merfolk within the surrounding region.These creatures would emerge at night along the shoreline, singing for hours at a time. The village, which was located not far from the site of the event, experienced a disturbing number of residents waking from their […]https://veilofentheos.com/2026/09/04/the-dreamers-of-the-fading-bloom-newsletter-8/
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The Dreamers of the Fading Bloom – Newsletter #8
August 19, 2026 23rd Lore Fragment Clamores Corallii MortiferiClamores Corallii Mortiferi, better known as the "Deadly Coral Cries," is an event in which the seaside village of Corallvik experienced a large increase in activity from the merfolk within the surrounding region.These creatures would emerge at night along the shoreline, singing for hours at a time. The village, which was located not far from the site of the event, experienced a disturbing number of residents waking from their […]https://veilofentheos.com/2026/09/04/the-dreamers-of-the-fading-bloom-newsletter-8/
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The Dreamers of the Fading Bloom – Newsletter #8
August 19, 2026 23rd Lore Fragment Clamores Corallii MortiferiClamores Corallii Mortiferi, better known as the "Deadly Coral Cries," is an event in which the seaside village of Corallvik experienced a large increase in activity from the merfolk within the surrounding region.These creatures would emerge at night along the shoreline, singing for hours at a time. The village, which was located not far from the site of the event, experienced a disturbing number of residents waking from their […]https://veilofentheos.com/2026/09/04/the-dreamers-of-the-fading-bloom-newsletter-8/
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The Dreamers of the Fading Bloom – Newsletter #8
August 19, 2026 23rd Lore Fragment Clamores Corallii MortiferiClamores Corallii Mortiferi, better known as the "Deadly Coral Cries," is an event in which the seaside village of Corallvik experienced a large increase in activity from the merfolk within the surrounding region.These creatures would emerge at night along the shoreline, singing for hours at a time. The village, which was located not far from the site of the event, experienced a disturbing number of residents waking from their […]https://veilofentheos.com/2026/09/04/the-dreamers-of-the-fading-bloom-newsletter-8/
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The Dreamers of the Fading Bloom – Newsletter #8
August 19, 2026 23rd Lore Fragment Clamores Corallii MortiferiClamores Corallii Mortiferi, better known as the "Deadly Coral Cries," is an event in which the seaside village of Corallvik experienced a large increase in activity from the merfolk within the surrounding region.These creatures would emerge at night along the shoreline, singing for hours at a time. The village, which was located not far from the site of the event, experienced a disturbing number of residents waking from their […]https://veilofentheos.com/2026/09/04/the-dreamers-of-the-fading-bloom-newsletter-8/
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The Dreamers of the Fading Bloom – Newsletter #7
July 19, 2026 18th Lore Fragment Petroabyssus OceanThe Petroabyssus Ocean, also referenced as the Oil Abyss, is notably extremely frigid and is known for the large ice sheets that stretch throughout the northern areas of the ocean.Due to the start of the Cycle Anomaly, an oil spill that occurred during the original cycle appears to be growing worse with each loop, resulting in the deaths of large populations of local wildlife. The spill has continued to spread and contaminate portions of […]https://veilofentheos.com/2026/09/03/the-dreamers-of-the-fading-bloom-newsletter-7/
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This Story Hour, Redfern Barrett and Deborah L. Davitt left our heads spinning with the vast potential of SFF! These four tales are all completely different, comparable only in their excellence. You can still watch! #Bookstodon #StoryHour2020 #ShortStories #ShortFiction #AuthorReading #FantasyFiction #ScienceFiction #SFF #DeborahLDavitt #RedfernBarrett https://youtu.be/6TIbLV927Yc
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The Dreamers of the Fading Bloom – Newsletter #6
June 19, 2026 25th Lore Fragment Bloom PhaseInformation on the Bloom Phase is limited. However, the (REDACTED) has compiled a chart detailing the Cycle Phases and what each phase entails.The Bloom Phase begins during the first month of the cycle and ends halfway through the third month, at which point it transitions into the Pulse Phase. The Bloom Phase marks the point when the world once more begins to stir with life. Interestingly enough, the Cycle Anomaly also restarts during this […]https://veilofentheos.com/2026/09/03/the-dreamers-of-the-fading-bloom-newsletter-6/
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A Dragon’s Power (Part One): Mattia’s Gift, Mattia’s Embrace
A tired man limps across the narrow pathway, the only safe path on a floor of lava
wearing a ragged orange poncho with crisscross patterns,
and tattered trousers wracked by his tumultuous life.
the heat nearly sears his skin,
his wits are barely clinging on, and the path seems endless,
yet he still walks,
he still takes steps forward.There was loneliness on this road,
a vast fiery sea within this underground expanse, with only a single narrow path,
no signs of life but hearing the occasional chittering of fire wyrms,
eventually, his steps slowed to a halt
he couldn’t continue onward, despite what he felt in his heart
‘keep going,’ it urged, but his body said, ‘no.’On his knees, he begged aloud for the grace of Mattia
he begged and begged, incessantly, hands clasped together,
and after a while,
after the heat nearly burned his feet,
the ceiling ahead caved in and a light shone from abovethat light was Mattia himself, descending upon the forsaken man,
gracefully flying behind him and encasing the man in his gentle embrace
Mattia softly guided the man’s head to his chest,
enveloping the dejected man in a quiet, motherly comfort,
his gentle heartbeat sending healing vibrations.Mattia’s voice was like a soothing, soft blanket for the man’s shaken nerves, “O, forsaken soul, thy hast cometh to mine lands seeking help. I shall grant you safe passage.”
He took this human away,
to a place where all of his worshippers gathered,
carefully taken care of and tended to in his care~ ~ ~
“I will… do anything for him… my god.”
The man knelt before the radiant prince,
taking his hand with the softness of a lover,
and laying a kiss upon itMattia seemed indifferent,
his eyes staring blankly
no smile present upon his delicate featuresThe man looks up,
soaking in the sight of that solemn face
a reflection of beauty—of Ashuton Karrucci
and all who came after him
but Ashuton was the one his heart remembers mostDuring the war when dragons reclaimed earth,
his family had always been devout followers of Ashuton
hanging portraits of him above their fireplace
alongside photos of their family
photos of smiling little girls and boys surrounded by bigger people
of smiling aunts and uncles in professional portraits
colorful, with a bevy of hairstyles from different generations
mohawks, fluffed permed hair, bed-tousled straight hair, afros adorned with accessories
a blended memorial to time—and to the dragon kings
portraits of Ashuton remain in the middle
like as if he was one of them
that worship still continues today, through this man
the last of his family.He took this pilgrimage to beg forgiveness from the Karrucci line
but to be accepted… like this?
it was unheard of
his ancestors could only dream this, in their ageless coffins long forgotten by the constant dirt“I give my heart to you,” he said gently
Mattia nods.
“I recognize you, human.”Human.
not even on a last name basis.
he accepts it, lucky enough to get this far
being lumped in with the other humans is fine.~ ~ ~
In the garden, he watered the flowers
it was his job, assigned to him by a tall biped yellow dragon with crinkled wings
the wyvern had bowed to him upon first meeting
when he spoke, his voice had the same gentle warmth as Mattia’s silken tones
“your place is in the garden, where your weary soul may rest among the flowers, but you must tend to them,” he said.The man nodded, “I am ever-grateful to be allowed rest.”
The wyvern mimics his action, eyes closed, “yes, yes, but it cannot last.”
The man’s eyebrows creased, his head tilting as confusion reigned his thoughts, “what do you mean?”
hm, concern was starting to dig itself inThe wyvern replied, “when you have recovered physically, and your mind has rested enough, The Prince will have need for your company.”
That didn’t sound ominous at all…
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Last Limp
Old old old fiction taking place within the Ruggizuomo storyline featured in Dragon Mafia
In the mist of New York, Roland Nikdydobrý was running in the rain. He had neither an umbrella nor a hat. He frantically looked around, as if he was searching for someone. He studied the crowd. There were no signs of steady movement. The people were walking like robots. He ran across the rainy streets, avoiding cars that honked at him but dared not stop. He stumbled into a nearby café. When that little bell rung, everyone slowly lifted their heads to stare at him. Their eyes were a thirsty blood red color. One woman reading a magazine stared at him with emerald green eyes. A teenage boy took his stare away from his iPhone to stare with blue eyes.
Roland gulped. His chest was heaving. He ran out the door but was met with a crowd of people surrounding him…staring at him. He dashed across the street, little light shone in the rainy and cloudy skies. He ran up to a payphone, probably the last of its kind, and dialed a number like a frantic man.
“Rugizzuomo Army, please!”
He constantly checked his surroundings with quick glances. He waited for someone to pick up, and finally a click.
“Maya! It’s Roland! Tell Riley I love him as a brother and I’ll miss him. I need this message delivered to Emperor Aaron. I am going to follow Beatrice to Illinois by posing as an entourage member. Someone is already letting me know they know I’m suspicious. I know because all of New York is possessed! Even when I was on something called the Wendy Williams show and the spell took affect there. Do not send forces until I end up dead and on the news!”
He hung up and frantically looked like someone on the run from police. He searched for a taxi while watching the surroundings. A man across the street stared at him. Another person across the street smiled. Everyone started smiling at him as the rain came down harder and the winds picked up like a hurricane. A newspaper flew in his face. Roland struggled with it, and when he ripped it off a taxi was right in front of him. He forced the door open and scrambled inside with haste.
“Drive!” He commanded as he slammed the door.
The wet man looked in the rear-view window and saw the taxi driver, whom was smiling and had eyes flooded with green colors. Roland stumbled out of the moving car and ran across the street and into the flowing crowd of walkers. They stopped to watch as he entered another taxi. He made his way inside and examined the driver. He smiled, but his smile wasn’t sinister and evil. The car drove off and Roland sighed with relief. As they came to an intersection Roland heard the sound of a speeding car. He looked out the window and another car slammed into the taxi. The left door creaked open and Roland, bloodied from his left cheek to his hand, fell out shaking and trembling. He stood up and limped across the sleek city streets. The world was spinning. Those red eyes still followed him like red neon lights.
There were 3 stories in the Last Limp saga. One preceded this, and was about Roland going to Illinois to monitor Beatrice. In this version Roland, brother of Riley, was investigating a cult of some sort. They called themselves Kuruga. It is left open to your interpretation. I will certainly not play with it.
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#Anime #AnimeArt #Art #creativeWriting #FlashFiction #literature #reading #Roland #ShortStories #urbanFantasy -
The Sun’s Beloved – Àsùnmọ́ (Embrace the Sun)
a half dragon born to Ashuton, Nari and Niccolo
a dragon of the moon and stars, worshipped in the modern day
he was stolen from them and marked as a divine envoy
forced to join the proto-Sun Devourer cult
he is forced to telepathically connect to an emotionally distant serpent god
it is painful for him, but he feels himself growing closer to the seemingly cold god
his followers await his reappearance
even in his absence, they still beg for his guidance under the Big Dipperday after day he completes tasks meant to appease the serpent
writing constant devotions, praises and affirmations
but sometimes he fights against it
he writes his resistance against the serpent
as punishment for his insubordination,
the serpent cursed him to become his divine representative
forsaking his own divinity of the stars and pledging only to him
linking them for as long as he livesbut at the end of his service, Àsùnmọ́ is fated to be devoured
brought before the serpent and eaten, his power stolen in the process
he values his life, he values waking up every morning
he values the moon, the stars, the sky, grapes, the friends he once had
he doesn’t want to die…
he still dreams of having his first kissName meaning
A common Yorùbá oríki, likely meaning someone that you like to be with or be around. (Source)
Read about the Sun Serpent here
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#African #Anime #AnimeArt #BlackFemboys #Fantasy #Femboys #Fiction #FlashFiction #Gay #LGBT #LGBTQIAFiction #OC #OCArt #Poetry #ShortStories #ToxicYaoi -
SHORT STORY: The Last Train Out
THE LAST TRAIN OUTAva had just clocked out of work and was heading home.
She usually passed by the train station on her way back, although she rarely used it. She preferred taking a bus and walking the rest of the distance. It was her little way of keeping fit after spending most of her day sitting in a laboratory.
Ava worked in one of the largest biochemical research laboratories in the city. She couldn’t imagine herself working anywhere else. The laboratory was known for its experimental research, but it had also become strangely notorious. There had been three unexplained contamination outbreaks within the facility in the past year, and even the CDC couldn’t keep up and had threatened to shut them down multiple times. Most people found that terrifying. Ava found it fascinating.
She had always been curious about everything and even things that science couldn’t immediately explain. That curiosity would eventually be the reason she survived.
While heading home she passed by the train station and heard it whistle, she instantly had dejavu like she had heard the whistle before, not just the whistle, the exact whistle, the same length, the same pause at the end of the whistle, and at the exact same time, 9:00 p.m.
Eventually, she shrugged it off. She passed the station every day. Maybe her brain was simply playing tricks on her.
The next evening, it happened again.
Same whistle.
Same time.
Same strange feeling.
Then again the following day.
And the day after that.
By Friday, Ava had stopped pretending it was a coincidence.
Suddenly, Ava found herself standing in the middle of Central Station with thousands of other people.
She didn’t remember walking there.
She didn’t remember entering the station.
One moment she had been walking to get a bus. The next, she was surrounded by people staring desperately at the tracks.
Ava looked around with no idea what was going on.
At exactly 10:00 p.m., every phone in the station buzzed at once.
Ava pulled hers out.
The same message appeared on every screen.
DO NOT GO OUTSIDE.
Then the electricity went out.
Then the explosions began.
One.
Then another.
Then several at once.
The ground shook beneath their feet.
People screamed.
The train everyone was waiting for was no where to be found just the sound of train racks shaking. Within an hour of waiting at the train, parts of the city were on fire. Everyone scattered around moving to different platforms hoping the next train that came they’d jump in without thinking. While there was chaos everywhere, At 11:30 p.m., another message appeared.
LAST TRAIN LEAVING CENTRAL STATION AT 12:30 A.M.
DESTINATION: NORTH TERMINAL.
Ava stared at the message.
North Terminal had been abandoned for years. She knew that because her laboratory had once worked with the railway authority on environmental testing around the site. There hadn’t been a functioning train there in years. So why was the city sending a train there now?
Ava was already at central station, she sighed relief but before she knew crowd of people were already trooping in, some even pushing others onto the empty tracks.
While struggling not to fall and also to wait for the train, she heard a familiar voice.
“Ava!”
She turned.
Daniel was running toward her.
“You made it,” he said, breathless.
“I almost didn’t.”
Neither of them had time to say anything else.
Then the train whistle sounded.
Neither of them spoke.
The train rolled into the station.
It looked old
Dark
Its windows reflected nothing.
The doors opened.
People rushed inside even pushing some people out of the way.
Ava grabbed Daniel’s hand.
“Don’t let go.”
They boarded.
As soon as everyone settled into the train the lights came back on.
The first journey lasted forty-three minutes.
Ava remembered that because she kept checking the clock.
12:31.
12:47.
1:03.
1:14.
Then the train stopped.
The doors opened.
North Terminal.
But there was no station.
Only darkness.
A voice came through the speakers.
“One passenger must remain.”
Then the lights went out.
Ava grabbed Daniel’s hand.
“Daniel?”
Nothing.
She squeezed harder.
Her hand closed around empty air.
“Daniel?”
When the lights returned, everyone was gone.
When the lights returned, everyone was gone.
Every passenger.
Every bag.
Every person.
Ava was alone.
Then she saw him.
Daniel was standing outside the train.
On the platform. A single flickering light hung above him. His back was turned.
“Daniel!”
Slowly, he turned around.
His face was covered in blood.
Ava stopped breathing.
Something moved behind him.
Two eyes opened in the darkness.
They were looking directly at her.
Ava screamed and stumbled backward, hitting her head against the metal wall of the train.
The train doors slammed shut.
The train moved.
Ava woke up at her desk.
Her heart was pounding.
The laboratory was silent.
It was already 9:00 p.m. She couldn’t remember falling asleep.
She felt a stinging feeling like her palm was burning.
A strange symbol had appeared across her palm. A small black circle. She had never seen it before. She rubbed it but it hurt her as she did like a fresh flesh wound.
She picked up her things to leave the office.
The hallway lights flickered as she walked toward the elevator.
One.
Two.
Three.
Each light went out just after she passed it.
Ava stopped.
The last light above her flickered.
Then went completely dark.
She stepped into the elevator.
When the doors opened again, she was standing outside the train station.
Ava stared at the entrance.
She didn’t remember walking there.
Her phone buzzed.
DO NOT GO OUTSIDE.
Ava stared at the message.
Then another appeared.
LAST TRAIN LEAVING CENTRAL STATION AT 12:30 A.M.
DESTINATION: NORTH TERMINAL.
She was already at central station. People began trooping in.
She dropped the phone.
She saw Daniel
They got on the train together
The darkness.
His bloodied face.
Everyone disappears
She hit her head and falls
The train doors slammed shut.
The train moved.
She wakes up in her office again at exactly 9:00pm
Same cycle repeating itself
This time when she woke up in her office, she was the only one.
Same thing on her palms.
Then someone knocked on her door.
Three times.
Ava froze.
“Who is it?”
No answer.
She opened the door.
Nobody was there.
Only a piece of paper lying on the floor.
She picked it up.
There was one sentence written on it.
DON’T LET HIM GET ON THE TRAIN.
Ava stared at it.
She didn’t know who “him” was.
Until she got the train this time and saw Daniel, it clicked and looked at Daniel.
“Don’t get on the train,” she told him.
He laughed.
“Ava, the city is literally burning.”
“I know.”
“You want us to stay here?”
“I want to know what’s happening.”
The train arrived.
Ava watched the doors open.
Everyone boarded.
She didn’t.
Daniel stared at her.
“Ava.”
“Don’t.”
The train doors began closing.
Daniel stepped back.
Then suddenly, a little girl grabbed Ava’s hand.
Ava looked down.
The girl was crying.
“Please don’t let it leave.”
“Why?”
The girl pointed toward the train.
“My mother is inside.”
Ava looked through the windows.
The passengers were sitting silently and strangely every passenger was looking at her.
The doors closed.
The train left.
The moment it disappeared into the tunnel, the entire station went dark.
The little girl disappeared.
Ava was alone.
She looked around looking for Daniel but didn’t find him.
Then everything went black again but this time she didn’t hit her head.
Ava woke up in her office.
Again.
She screamed.
She knew immediately.
She was living a repeated cycle.
But this time, something was different.
The symbol on her palm had changed.
There were now two circles.
Ava stared at it.
Then she remembered the little girl.
The man on the train.
The sentence on the paper.
And one thought came to her.
Maybe the train wasn’t the destination.
Maybe it was a clue.
She had less than 2 hours before the whole cycle reset itself again.
Ava didn’t go to Central Station.
She went to the old railway archives.
She searched through newspapers.
Maps.
Construction records. Everything she could find about North Terminal.
She discovered that the North Terminal had been abandoned five years ago due to the fire outbreak and train accident that happened.
There was no functioning station there.
She looked at the map of the station and discovered an underground control room.
The original railway plans showed a tunnel that had been sealed.
Ava found an old photograph with newspapers that talked about a fire outbreak.
Six people stood in front of the tunnel.
Engineers.
Scientists.
Government officials.
And behind them was the same symbol on her palm. The two circles.
Ava’s heart began pounding. She needed to know more but she was running out of time.
She took the map and pictures and was heading further but she was out of time. Everywhere became pitch black and she woke up in her office again.
This time Ava went straight to the North Terminal.
She found the sealed tunnel.
Behind the rusted doors was a staircase.
She walked down.
Until she heard something.
A train.
But there were no tracks.
The sound was coming from beneath the ground.
She followed it.
At the bottom, she found a massive underground room.
Machines covered the walls.
Thousands of wires disappeared into the ceiling.
And in the centre was a giant glass chamber.
Inside it were people.
Dozens of them.
Sleeping.
Connected to machines.
Ava walked closer.
Then she saw Daniel.
Her breath caught.
He was inside the chamber.
Alive.
She ran toward him.
“Daniel!”
His eyes opened.
“Ava?”
She touched the glass.
He shook his head.
“You need to destroy everything, Ava.”
The lights in the room came on.
Six people stood behind her.
The same six people from the photograph.
Except they hadn’t aged.
Not a day.
“You finally found us.” One of them said
Ava turned.
“What have you done?”
The woman in front stepped forward.
“We built the first train.”
“Why?”
“To save the city.”
Ava looked at the machines.
“You’re killing people.”
“We’re preventing something worse, and the sacrifices are for the greater good.”
“Every cycle ends with the city destroyed.”
“So you reset it.”
“Yes.”
Ava stared at her.
“And everyone forgets.”
“Everyone except you.”
“Why me?”
The woman smiled.
“Because you were the first person who survived the last train out.”
Ava froze.
“What?”
“You were never supposed to remember.”
“How many times?”
The woman answered:
“One hundred and twelve.”
Ava’s face went pale.
She had lived this night 112 times.
Each time, she had boarded the train.
Each time, the city had died.
Each time, everything had started again.
“But why?”
“We built the machines using untested chemicals and machines that were found in space to make the train faster, we realised we could also travel in time and reset things using the train, but the more we used the more we upset the balance of time.”
“We’ve been stuck here feeding the machine and trying to stop the end of the world.”
The room began shaking.
“You have two choices, Ava. Only you can save us all.”
The woman raised her hand.
“Board the train again.”
The machines began humming.
“And the cycle continues.”
She pointed towards the machines
“Or destroy the machine.”
Ava looked at the people trapped inside the chambers.
Then at Daniel.
Then at the machines.
“What happens if I destroy it?”
Before the woman could answer she fell and hit her head and was having a seizure.
The other five tried to attack Ava but she took a metal pipe and hit the chamber filled with liquid. She knew the liquid was harmless, but volatile and realised that her laboratory were the ones who first created the liquid. At that time she didn’t realise what they were creating such large quantities. The liquid from the chambers swept the other five in different directions hitting their head on the metals around.
Ava looked at Daniel.
“Can you walk?”
He nodded.
“Then let’s end this.”
The alarms began screaming.
Daniel pulled the emergency lever beside the glass chamber.
The machine exploded with sparks.
The room shook violently.
“Stop!”
The woman got up and screamed.
“You don’t understand what you’re doing!”
Ava looked at her.
“I understand perfectly.”
She ran toward the central machine.
The woman tried to stop her.
Ava pushed her. Crashing each other against the controls.
The machine began overheating.
The train whistle sounded somewhere beneath them.
The woman screamed:
“IF YOU DESTROY IT, THE TRAIN WILL NEVER COME BACK!”
Ava pulled the final lever.
The machine exploded.
The underground room filled with white light.
Every screen shattered.
Every wire burned.
The sound of the train became deafening.
Before they could make it out, it exploded flinging them outside to the train tracks.
Ava felt a ringing sound in her ears before closing her eyes and then silence.
Ava opened her eyes.
She was lying on the floor of Central Station.
The station was crowded.
People were talking and walking past her.
Trains were arriving.
Nobody was screaming.
Nobody was running.
Nobody was dying.
Ava sat up and quickly looked at her palm. The symbol was gone.
Ava’s phone rang, it was the hospital.
They had called to tell her Daniel woke up from the coma. She smiled. Daniel was Ava’s fiancée, he had been in the train accident that happened five years ago and had been in a coma since.
She looked toward the tracks.
A train arrived.
Ava’s heart skipped a bit.
It was the same black train.
The same one.
But this time, it was different.
The windows reflected the passengers.
The lights inside were warm.
The doors opened.
People stepped off.
Alive.
Real.
Ava watched silently.
Then she saw them.
The six people from the photograph.
They stepped off the train.
Behind them came the little girl and her mother.
The woman who had been trapped inside the machine looked at Ava.
She smiled.
“Thank you.”
Ava frowned.
“For what?”
“For letting us go.”
Ava looked at the train.
“The six of you…”
The woman nodded.
“We were trapped inside the machine just as much as everyone else.”
“And the train?”
The woman looked back at it.
“It was trapped too.”
Ava looked at the black train.
For five years, it had carried the same people toward the same ending.
Over and over.
Never arriving.
Never leaving.
Until now.
Ava looked back at the tracks.
The black train slowly disappeared into the morning light.
For the first time, it wasn’t taking anyone anywhere.
It was simply leaving.
Thank you for reading!!!
Love,
Dupe Abiona
#books #daydreaming #dreaming #fiction #fictionalstories #fictionalwriting #future #futuristicnovels #futuristicshortstories #lifeloveandstories #shortstories #story -
“I yearned for escape. It hurt to yearn. The more I yearned, the more pain I felt. Sometimes I wished that I could be satisfied with all that appeared to be, rather than yearning for more.” https://library.hrmtc.com/2026/07/28/i-yearned-for-escape-it-hurt-to-yearn-the-more-i-yearned-the-more-pain-i-felt-sometimes-i-wished-that-i-could-be-satisfied-with-all-that-appeared-to-be-rather-than-yearning-for-more/ #AbsurdistFiction #all #appearedToBe #book #EnglishShortStories #EnglishShortStories21stCentury #escape #felt #hurt #MagicalRealism #MikeRussell #pain #quote #ratherThan #satisfied #shortStories #wished #yearn #yearnedFor #yearningForMore -
SHORT STORY: The Dance of the Lost Souls (part two)
“Mya…”
The whisper drifted through the night once more.
My grandmother.
It had to be.
For years I had longed to hear her voice again. I had replayed memories in my mind, afraid that one day I would forget the way she laughed, the softness of her hands, the way she always called me by the name no one else dared use.
Now, somehow she was calling me.
The music swelled, rising and falling with the wind.
The forest had become a place without life.
Yet I did not feel alone.
I felt watched.
Then I saw it.
A pale mist drifted between the trees as though it already knew where it was going.
I followed.
The trees suddenly gave way to an enormous clearing.
At its centre stood the ancient silk-cotton tree my grandmother had spoken of so many times.
It was larger than any tree I had ever imagined.
Its roots rose from the earth like the backs of sleeping giants, winding around one another until they formed natural arches.
The branches stretched into the sky, disappearing into darkness.
The moonlight shimmered across the fog, creating shapes that appeared and vanished.
Then the shapes became people.
Transparent. Their feet never truly touched the ground.
They glided over the mist in perfect harmony, moving as though one heartbeat guided them all.
Their dance was impossibly beautiful.
For a brief moment, I forgot to be afraid.
The music welcomed me.
Each soul carried an unfinished story.
Lives interrupted.
Promises broken.
Words left unsaid.
I felt every one of them.
Tears rolled down my cheeks without my understanding why.
Then I saw her.
She stood perfectly still while everyone else danced.
She wore a faded blue wrapper embroidered with tiny white flowers.
I knew that wrapper.
“Grandma…”
“My little Mya.”
The sound of my name broke something inside me.
I ran toward her.
My arms passed through her like cold smoke.
I stumbled.
She remained standing exactly where she was, but the dance continued.
The music grew louder.
The souls began moving closer.
Their glowing eyes watched me with desperate hope.
“You should not have come.” Grandma said
“You called me.” I said tear filling my eyes
“No.” She said
“I prayed you wouldn’t even hear them.”
A cold shiver travelled through me.
“The voice you heard…”
“…wasn’t mine.”
The dancers circled us.
Closer.
Closer.
Their movements became faster.
The music deepened.
It no longer sounded beautiful.
It sounded fast paced and had like a screeching sound like discs being merged together.
I tried to step backward.
My feet refused.
The mist wrapped itself around my ankles.
Cold fingers brushed against my skin.
Then more.
Hands.
Dozens of invisible hands.
“I can’t move.”
“I know.” Grandma said
One by one, the dancers reached toward me.
Their fingertips barely grazed my shoulders.
Each touch stole something.
The smell of my mother’s cooking.
Gone.
My father’s laughter.
Gone.
The sound of rain against my apartment window.
Gone.
My first day at school.
Gone.
I gasped.
I couldn’t remember what month it was.
Then…
I couldn’t remember how old I was.
Fear gripped my chest.
Not because of the ghosts.
Because I was disappearing.
The music wrapped around me.
It made me feel
No more pain.
No more loneliness.
No more goodbyes.
Just dance.
Forever.
I looked down.
My feet no longer touched the ground.
I was floating.
The mist curled around my body like a second skin.
Grandma tried to grab me but couldn’t so she closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, she looked exactly as she had when I was a little girl telling me bedtime stories.
“You still have birthdays left.”
“You still have stories you haven’t written.”
“You still have people waiting for you.”
Tears filled my eyes and I asked “What about you?”
“My story ended long ago my child…”
“…some endings become someone else’s beginning.”
The invisible hands pulled at me harder.
The circle tightened.
The music became deafening. I tried lifting my hands but couldn’t.
Grandma stepped forward and entered the circle.
Every soul stopped dancing.
They turned toward her.
And there was sudden silence.
Then she looked back at me and lifted both my hands.
Though her hands never touched me, I felt my hands go up and warmth explode through my body.
The invisible fingers released me.
The mist tore away from my skin.
The music had faded
“Run.”
“I can’t leave you.”
“You already did.”
“What?”
“The day you chose to keep living.”
The wind roared.
The circle broke.
Something pushed me backward with tremendous force.
I fell.
The clearing blurred.
The tree disappeared.
I felt hands shake my shoulders violently.
I opened my eyes.
My mother knelt beside my bed.
Her face was pale with fear.
“Thank God.”
“You wouldn’t wake up,” my mother whispered.
I sat up slowly.
“I’m fine mum” “I had the strangest dream.” I said
The room spun.
My mum sighed and left.
My memory of the night felt so real but it became hazy, like a fading dream, but one thing remained clear: the dance of souls was real.
We went back to the city after the birthday party. Years passed but I could never forget that night, I had always wished to go back to the village but where was the time.
The dance went on each year, deep in the heart of the forest, but never again did I venture near for I knew now that some things were meant to remain undisturbed, secrets best left unsaid.
Thank you for reading!!!
Love,
Dupe Abiona.
#books #creativeWriting #dreaming #familylove #fiction #fictionalwriting #futuristicnovels #futuristicshortstories #shortnovels #shortstories #shortstory #story -
Book 54 of 2026
The Mystery of the Wettest Wedding Ever by
C M RawlinsLast book in the series
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My favourite John Wyndham cover. Only The Wheel in this collection of early stories hints at the great writer of apocalyptic fiction that he was to become. Most of the stories are very much tailored to the American pulp magazines he was selling them to.
#Books #Johnwyndham #Shortstories -
SHORT STORY: The Dance of the Lost Souls
“Some dances are meant for the living. Others are meant to remind the dead they are not alone.”
That was a saying children in my village learned long before they even knew what words were.
“When the wind begins to sing, go home.”
No one laughed at the warning.
No one questioned it.
As a young adult, I thought the adults were simply trying to frighten us into behaving. Every village had stories meant to keep curious children from wandering into rivers, climbing dangerous trees, or disappearing into the forest.
Ours simply happened to involve spirits.
Deep beyond the river, where the forest grew so thick that sunlight rarely reached it, stood an ancient silk-cotton tree. Its roots were as wide as houses, curling through the ground like enormous sleeping snakes.
No one went there. Not hunters. Not herbalists. Not even the oldest elders who claimed to fear nothing.
According to the stories, that was where the lost souls gathered every year on the Eve of Hallows.
Not to haunt.
Not to hunt.
To dance.
The dead, my grandmother used to say, were not always angry.
Sometimes… they were simply lonely.
My grandmother loved stories more than anyone I had ever known.
Every evening, after supper, she would spread an old woven mat and I would curl up beside her, resting my head against her lap. She always smelled of shea butter, and smoke from the kitchen fire.
She would tell me the story of “The Dancing Souls.” But whenever she was about to tell me that story, her voice became quieter.
The smile disappeared from her face.
“Grandma,” I once asked, “have you ever seen the dance?”
Instead of answering, she looked toward the forest.
For a very long time.
“I’ve seen enough.”
“Are they evil?” I asked
“No.”
“Then why can’t people watch them?”
“Because sorrow can be just as dangerous as evil.”
“I don’t understand.”
She placed a wrinkled finger against my forehead.
“One day you will.”
Another evening, I asked why everyone hurried home before eight.
Grandma looked around to make sure no one was listening.
Then she leaned close enough that I could hear the softness in her breathing.
“If anyone calls your name from the forest after sunset…”
“…don’t answer.”
“What if it’s you?”
“It won’t be.”
“What if it sounds exactly like you?”
Her eyes met mine.
“Especially then.”
“What happens if someone answers?”
Grandma stared toward the forest again.
“The dead miss being alive.”
She said
“And sometimes…”
“They don’t want to be lonely anymore.”
I never forgot those words. I also never truly understood what she meant but they lingered on my mind even after we left the village, even after life changed.
My parents moved us to the city. They said there were better schools and better opportunities. I mean they weren’t wrong but moving to the city was quite stressful, it was loud, bright, and always awake. There were roads that stretched farther than I could see, buildings that touched the sky, and neighbours who barely knew each other’s names.
Life became busy. School became harder. Friends came and went.
The village slowly became something I remembered only in fragments. Then… Grandma died.
She passed peacefully in her sleep. I never got to say goodbye.
For months afterward, I would wake believing I had heard her calling my name.
“Mya.”
No one else called me that.
Only her.
I had always hated my middle name.
Grandma insisted it carried an ancient blessing.
I’d wish I could hear her say it just once more.
Years slipped by. Life became work. Work became routine. Routine became years.
The village slowly faded into memory. I had no one to tell me these stories and soon after I forgot about it all.
Until my father’s seventieth birthday.
“I’m celebrating at home,” he announced one Sunday over lunch.
My mother blinked.
“Here in the city?”
“No.”
“Our village.”
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then my father looked at me.
“You haven’t been back since your grandmother’s funeral.”
He was right.
I hadn’t.
The journey took nearly five hours from the city.
As we left the highways behind, smooth roads gave way to narrow dusty paths lined with towering palm trees and thick forests.
The air changed, it smelled of rain, fresh leaves, wood smoke, and rivers.
Almost nothing had changed.
Children still chased tyres down the road.
Women still sold roasted corn beneath umbrellas.
Old men still gathered beneath the giant iroko tree, arguing about politics no one intended to solve.
Only the houses looked different.
Many now had painted walls and metal gates instead of mud bricks and wooden fences.
Progress had found its way here, but not enough to erase the soul of the village.
Our family house stood exactly where I remembered. Not far from the river and during the evenings, the townspeople came out to the river to play.
That evening, while my parents had visitors already trooping in to visit, I wandered to the riverbank alone, and there it all started coming back to me.
I watched as children laughed as they splashed one another. Women washed clothes while humming songs. Everything felt beautifully ordinary, yet beneath that familiarity something felt missing.
My Grandma, she would have been sitting on her mat waiting for me. I knew I had to visit her the next day as it was already getting late and people had begun leaving the riverbank.
The next day, while my parents were out preparing for the birthday party, I decided to go visit Grandma’s grave. I sat there telling her stories about my life in the city and lost track of time. I had to rush back home, I knew my parents would been worried as there was no cellular network to reach me.
By the time I reached home, my parents were waiting outside.
“Mya!”
My mother rushed over.
“We’ve been worried sick.”
“You know there isn’t any phone signal,” my father added.
“I know, I’m sorry, I lost track of time.”
The following morning, the village buzzed with unusual excitement.
Young boys hurried through the streets handing out printed flyers.
Across the top, written in bold black letters, were the words: EVE OF THE HALLOWS
I immediately remembered when my grandma used to tell me stories about it, but I didn’t think they were real obviously I just thought they were meant to scare children.
I sneaked out of the house later that night, I found my way to the forest and the deeper I went the more I kept hearing strange music and it kept drawing me closer. It was like I was chasing something but couldn’t quite name it.
As the moon shined brighter as if directing my path, I soon reached the clearing, a place filled with mist over the ground, the moon shined brightly through it as if creating figures with it. It was silent and cold, yet I was anticipating as I walked through it and came to a big tree. That’s when I saw them, pale, translucent figures, floating through the mist past me toward the tree. Their faces were blurred, but between the mist they became figures.
My heart started racing as I had never seen anything like this. My feet rooted in place, I was both terrified and mesmerized. I wanted to turn back and run as I kept getting a feeling I wasn’t supposed to be there.
A voice, soft and familiar, whispered my name.
Not the name everyone knew.
The one only one person had ever used.
“Mya…”
Every hair on my arms stood upright.
My heart forgot how to beat.
Because I knew that voice.
I had known it since childhood.
It clicked in my head.
To Be Continued…
Thank you for reading!!!
Love,
Dupe Abiona
#books #dance #dancingsouls #eveofhallows #fiction #fictionalwriting #Magic #shortnovels #shortstories #souldance #souls #story -
Periodic reminder to #comic #artists #narrators #poets #voiceactors etc. if you are struggling to find a plot, you are welcome to borrow one from my latest collection of #shortstories
You don't have to pay me or even add a link to the book, although it would be nice if you mentioned me
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Anton & Glenn
What a pair of characters! Glenn was just a pretty weird guy in general, clever . He lived on the second floor of my building. Anton, in the wheelchair is a book all by himself. His leg. That is just one story and here is how it happened. Anton is an alcoholic, what he did before he lost the leg for a living I don’t know, but when first saw him, he was on the corner by the robots begging. He would make enough money and then off to the Bottle Store. He did have a room to sleep in. I got […] -
Library of Short Stories, a curated collection of public domain short stories, designed for distraction-free reading.
Perfect for building a daily reading habit through timeless, bite-sized fiction.
https://www.libraryofshortstories.com/
#ShortStories
#ReadingHabit
#PublicDomain
#DigitalLibrary
#Literature -
Rand Clinic 1986/7
The Rand Clinic 1986/7 Rolled a car, upside down and flipped over type of jol. Car totalled, boss unhappy, but it was not my fault that time! Anyway. My face had a few cuts as did my arms, and my left hand had a broken knuckle. I did not like doctors then already, as they were still trying to kill my mom with their drugs. They got it right about a years later…. Anyway, patched myself up, no problem. Or so I thought. My Pinkie knuckle healed wrong and the finger could not bend. Ok. […]https://waynebisset.wordpress.com/2026/04/04/rand-clinic-1986-7/
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Our Drugged up Society
How the hell did we get here? Working on two philosophies to see how we got here. First is not looking where you fell, but where you slipped. Funny enough this led straight to the second philosophy, find the source. For this particular slip we need look no further than: Psychiatry . These “doctors” are on the forefront of our legal drug dealer trade, i.e. The Medical Profession. While at the moment everyone seems to be on about Big Pharma, let’s take a look at this branch of the […]https://waynebisset.wordpress.com/2026/03/23/our-drugged-up-society/
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HOW TO TELL…..
HOW TO TELL IF YOU’RE SOUTH AFRICAN …. You call a bathing suit a “swimming costume” or a “cozzie”. You call a traffic light a “robot”. You call a sandwich a ‘sarmie’ You call an elevator a “lift” – but asking for a ‘lift’ doesn’t mean you want an elevator – you actually want a “ride” You call a car hood a “bonnet” You call a car trunk a “boot” You call a pickup truck a “bakkie” “Van” isn’t a vehicle – he’s the butt of some […]https://waynebisset.wordpress.com/2026/03/23/how-to-tell-if-youre-a-south-african/
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i'm ewan — developer, writer, occasional poet. i build open-source ATProto tooling,
self-host most of my own infrastructure, and take commissions for things i'm actually
good at.if any of that is useful or interesting to you, ko-fi.com/ewancroft
is where commissions live:- poetry from £10
- short stories from £20
- SvelteKit websites from £100
everything's CC BY-SA 4.0. no NDAs, no nonsense.
tips are also welcome if you've got use out of anything i've made or written.
either way, cheers.
#kofi #commissions #commissionsopen #opentocommissions #hire #forwardslashforhire #freelance #freelancedev #freelancewriter #writing #writer #poet #poetry #shortstories #fiction #creativewriting #literarywriting #webdev #webdeveloper #frontend #sveltekit #svelte #javascript #typescript #nodejs #atproto #bluesky #fediverse #activitypub #indieweb #decentralised #decentralized #opensource #selfhosted #selfhosting #nixos #linux #homelabbing #homelab #developer #softwaredev #smallcreator #indiecreator #supportcreators #supportindiedevs #supportindieartists #makersofmastodon #mutualaid #ukdev #ukwriter #british -
Oh my gosh! Just found out today I got a creation grant to work on my speculative short story collection. The stories will be based on my interpretation of what the world would be like if Jehovah's Witness teachings were literally true. The answer: very fucking weird. Many thanks to the Ontario Arts Council for the grant, and to House of Anansi Press for recommending me.
https://www.arts.on.ca/home
https://houseofanansi.com
#WritingCommunity #ShortStories #AuthorsOfMastodon #bookstodon #ExJW #JehovahsWitnesses #horror #SpeculativeFiction -
In happier news that's related to the short story that's my WIP, I'm thinking that Ray Bradbury and Stephen King have left a permanent mark on three whole generations of US-Americans (and others around the world) when it comes to conceptions of clowns and carnivals.
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Thank you Ingram for featuring our @starsandsabers cross-genre anthology, OF SHADOWS, STARS, AND SABERS, on this great list of Short Story Standouts on Bookshop.org
https://bookshop.org/lists/short-story-standouts?page
#books #fantasy #ScienceFiction #Horror #ShortStories #Anthology #curatedindie #ingramspark -
It was a great opportunity today at the Victorian Pride centre to celebrate LGBTQIA writers with the announcement of the Pearl Prize. Really enjoyed meeting some of my fellow contributors and picking up a copy of this year's collection. #Midsumma #pride #LGBTQIA #lgbtqiastories #lgbtqiawriters #shortstories #writing ##midsummafestival2025 #melbourne
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My second story is in print thanks to the Pearl Prize. Really enjoyed this year's theme 'Queerness beyond the ML and AI'. #lgbtqia #Midsumma #pride #lgbtqiastories #lgbtqiawriters #midsummafestival2025 #Melbourne #shortstories
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This Story Hour, Cynthia Gómez and Nadine Aurora Tabing read compelling tales about the underdogs. Not simple revenge tales, either. So, so much more than that. Gorgeous, gorgeous work. Guest hosted by the insightful Rebecca Gomez Farrell. You can still watch! @suchnadine @RebeccaGomezFarrell #StoryHour2020 #ShortStories #AuthorReading #Horror #BramStokerAwardNominee #BramStokerAward #CynthiaGomez #CynthiaGómez #NadineAuroraTabing #RebeccaGomezFarrell https://www.facebook.com/watch/live/?ref=watch_permalink&v=489910910047456
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Finalists announced for the Anthony Award for the best mystery short story of the year. This page has links to the #stories
https://www.bouchercon2024.com/anthony-nominee-s-stories
#Mysteries #MysteryFiction #CrimeFiction #Fiction #ShortStories #Reading #MysteryNovels
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Finalists announced for the Anthony Award for the best mystery short story of the year. This page has links to the #stories
https://www.bouchercon2024.com/anthony-nominee-s-stories
#Mysteries #MysteryFiction #CrimeFiction #Fiction #ShortStories #Reading #MysteryNovels
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Finalists announced for the Anthony Award for the best mystery short story of the year. This page has links to the #stories
https://www.bouchercon2024.com/anthony-nominee-s-stories
#Mysteries #MysteryFiction #CrimeFiction #Fiction #ShortStories #Reading #MysteryNovels
