• Increase font size
  • Default font size
  • Decrease font size
Best Stories on the Web
We publish original Short Stories written by accomplished authors from around the globe. You can read them here and also sign up to have them emailed to you. See Subscribe button on left.

To enable further promotion of reading and writing, all stories will now appear on our sister site,

All genres, all writers, all here.

Here, on we publish only the highest quality stories from great writers around the world. To have work published on is testament to the finest writing ability. Once published, we share your success with others, announce your achievement on Twitter, and give good writing, great publicity. The site receives in excess of 300,000 page views per month and is the number one site on search engines for various genres.

We have a category for everyone. So why not sharpen your skills, your pencil and your wits and commit that story to paper? Give our followers what they want to read and get your name in front of thousands of readers every week.

Best of luck in your writing endeavors.


French Prostitutes Collective

E-mail Print

‘Are these men paying you for sex?’  The nurse said.

I considered her question.

‘No.’ I eventually said.  I’d saved up all my Franks for a private health screening and I wasn’t about to blow it now.  I even had my best dress on.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have told her the exact number.

I’d counted the men, I was responsible.

She pursed her lips and carried on.

‘So, 16 in the last three months, and you see six of them on a casual basis?’

I nodded.

It looked bad.  But then it was... well it wasn’t bad.  It was what it was.


From the Zone with Love

E-mail Print

“Look,” BannaLinda said, “I want only one.”

The R-Agent shook its head, emitting the characteristic faint clinking sound that agent-robots make in motion.

“Sorry,” it said.  “Not allowed.  I’d lose my job.”

“You don’t have a job, moron,” said BannaLinda, “you’re an idiotic machine with a lowest-bidder program. I’d kick you to molecules right now, but I’m wearing new shoes.”

The R-Agent calmly ignored both insult and threat.

“Your scheduled mating season begins in exactly 27 months.  Be advised that the usual incentives and penalties will apply.”


Eerie Landing

E-mail Print

Dan Fletcher and Cindy Oster laughed as they drank another Keystone beer from the cooler inside the hatch of the Honda Fit.  Both were 16 and had taken the beer to a somewhat secluded area of the Erie Canal just outside the rural town of Clinton Landing.  It was a popular site for Buffalo, NY area high school students to drink.  The scattered beer cans next to the car confirmed that others had recently been to the same spot.  Neither Dan or Cindy cared about the filth lying around them.

“You know what Cindy?” Dan said as he finished his Keystone.  “We should swim in the canal.”

Cindy looked perplexed at the suggestion.  “We didn’t bring swimsuits Dan.”

“Who needs suits?”


The Rooms are Wrong

E-mail Print

Wasn't it just daylight outside? Or maybe I'm thinking of earlier... The house seems to have changed or am I imagining it? Did someone slip me something? I....feel wrong. This house feels wrong. Walking down this corridor I'm trying to remember what's the same and hold on to that. The wallpaper is a sickly yellow color with a bland floral print. Definitely not with the times. And the ceiling is an off white. Like it's dimmed by the environment. Like it wants to be brighter but can't. I guess even houses sometimes wish they could be what they're not. There's no light. Except the daylight peeking in from the rooms on the left side. Oh wait, there's no daylight. What am I thinking of? But how can I still see? It's storming now. There's the puttering of rain and I hear restrained thunder. It's powerful but not out of control.


Vince Domino, King of Smut

E-mail Print

As Tough Johnny Rolls (his words) remembers it:

It was the beginning of summer in 1954 when Vince Domino returned to the East New York. His thirteen year stretch at Sing Sing was over. No parole for Vince, he did the full tilt. He’s no rat, he kept his mouth shut.

What other choice did he have? Maybe like Kid Twist, the rat star witness who agreed to talk and took a ten story “fall” out of a window while being secretly “protected” by the cops at the Half Moon Hotel in Coney Island.

Forgetabout it!

They had Kid Twist, but they didn’t have Vince, they’d never have Vince for any Murder charge, but if they ever did, he still would not squeal. He would happily go to old sparky with honor and dignity. His mantra: “I don’t give nobody up.”


Run, Cecily, Run

E-mail Print

I trekked deeper and deeper into the forest while the frigid air smacked me in the face, sneaking inside my lungs, as it almost drowned me.

The hairs on my back pricked up, making me whirl around for a second.

Nobody was there.

I shook my head again before shuffling through more of the forest and almost scoffed since it wasn’t like I could use magic to escape. That would attract unwanted attention, and there were already enough problems with the wanted posters of me that were propped up on all the trees in the forest in addition to everywhere else.


Valentine Inc

E-mail Print

Susie Adams was a short girl with a fair bit more than she’d like around the middle, although at age fourteen she still lived in hope that her growth spurt was coming on any day now. She also had a particularly nasty case of asthma that caused her to miss school days and left her with too much time on her hands.

It took her six months to hack into Valentine Inc., the world’s premier dating site. As Valentine Inc. had gradually taken over as almost the only means of dating, many people had tried to game the system, but Susie had two advantages over the multitude: a brilliant brain that spent too much time cooped up, and a father who worked for the company and kept his password taped underneath his desk.


Death of an American Cockroach

E-mail Print

“If God loves us so much, why did he create roaches?” Debra mutters to herself as she edges closer to the bathroom, clutching a rolled-up Daily News.  She had slipped into her pajamas when she  spotted  The Thing; that dirty creature with the six hairy legs and the swishing feelers and the gold flecks on its penis-shaped black-brown head.

It was in there.

She pushes open the door and gasps.  Now it’s perched on the white plastic toilet seat.  Debra is certain she’ll never again make a number two or two and a half in the bowl. 

  • «
  •  Start 
  •  Prev 
  •  1 
  •  2 
  •  3 
  •  4 
  •  5 
  •  6 
  •  7 
  •  8 
  •  9 
  •  10 
  •  Next 
  •  End 
  • »

Page 1 of 54

Sign Up for Info!

Featured Stories

Written by: Kenneth L. Gibbons
Nathan slowly crept into the center of the pentagram and lit the white candle.  The loosely organized tools and appliances... Read more..

Written by: Christo Frederick Crous
Dawn crept slowly over the darkened land of Eirené. The petals and leaves were weighted with glistening tears of vapor.... Read more..

Written by: Saul Greenblatt
Armand Charon, a very handsome man about 35, had black, curly hair and was a muscular 6’5”. He owned an art gallery in... Read more..

Written by: Phil Carter
Peter walked around the many bodies that lay dead on the street – little pools of blood encircled their heads where they... Read more..

Buy Featured Story Placement