Top Voted Realistic Fiction

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 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 »)

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 »)

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 »)

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 »)

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 »)

“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 »)

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 »)

It was clear and bright that day, as it was the day I met Sarah. It was three years ago when I first saw her, sitting on a flat black rock under a tree reading One Hundred Years of Solitude, which I had never read but recognized as a weighty kind... (more »)

It took me 15 years and 364 days to turn 16, three tries to pass my driving test, and several months of nonsense to finally earn the right to drive on my own. It takes a song and a half to get out of the school’s hellish parking lot at the... (more »)