Most Discussed Realistic Fiction

The eyeliner makes the dark circles less pronounced. The lip gloss hides the trembling. The ponytail conceals missing patches of hair. The Abercrombie sweater covers bruises. I might look at bit thinner, but everyone will ask about my new diet. My... (more »)

A kid. That’s all I am to him: Trapped in my ­under-developed body. I want to scream, but my mouth is dry. *** His words drown together, lost somewhere between his mouth and my ear, until she nudges me. “… However, Ms. Lock, we... (more »)

The first death on your watch isn’t even your fault. You’re just one of the many interns who rush to the bedside when the code is called, peering at the doctors crowding around. As the patient gasps and chokes, you too gasp and choke as each... (more »)

“Why are you here, Vanessa?” asks the woman with the bun. Two blond ringlets fall behind her ears and I want to yank them, to see if they will straighten when you pull them. “I don’t know,” I mumble. She looks at me irritably, pen... (more »)

I really didn't see it coming. His hand, angry and rough and quick as lightning, connected with my jaw as he smacked me across the face. Hard. My neck snapped to the side, my chin pointed downward, and that's where I stayed for at least a full... (more »)

My name is Manso. Manso Folds. It’s not much of a name I know, but there’s nothing much I can really do about it, is there? Even if there was something I could do (and I suppose there is technically. After all, how hard could it possibly... (more »)

I don’t mow lawns, I don’t read to the elderly, I don’t walk people’s dogs. I don’t go fishing in the morning, I don’t ride my bike to the tracks to watch trains hurtle by. I don’t care about the rest. It is dusk, and I wait behind... (more »)

He slowly turns the pliers in his hand, curling the wire around itself. With one last squeeze, the next piece of his beach glass mobile is complete. It sparkles as he holds it up to the sun and translucent brown, blue, and green dance across... (more »)

There is only one word that I know how to say in German. Mappenklemmplatte. Binder clip. Why my father took this as a sign to pick up everything I knew – from my bed to my dog to my favorite pen to the “Our Happy Home” mat by the door... (more »)

The final shot ricocheted off a tree. “No one showed up.” “It’s a Thursday. People are working late or studying.” “So should I just stick to Fridays from now on?” “I’ve gotta get going.” “Um, yeah, me too.... (more »)