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Center your story around a character who’s afraid of being forgotten.

Posted in Dramatic on Jan 17, 2025

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✍️ 76 stories

The Juncos

Submitted to Contest #286

"Casey was always so funny," I murmur, holding the faded photo close to her face, close enough that she can see it. "Remember this? Remember when he dressed Winston up like a doll?" I trace my finger over the furry little guinea pig in the picture, trapped forever in a tiny yellow dress with white lace trim. The edges of the photo are curled and Winston’s dress is faded into a dull sepia color. "Poor Winston- he was so sweet," I say with a soft laugh. "Casey always used to take my dolls' clothes and dress him up, and Winston would just sit t...

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The Proof

Shortlisted for Contest #286 ⭐️

"Good morning, class. Welcome to your Philosophy 101 final exam. You were asked to bring only a pen or pencil. If you have brought anything additional, you are excused from the exam, and will receive an email with an assignment for not being able to follow instructions. Also, the best you will be able to score on the assignment is a 'C.'" There were three or four students who left the room. They had brought bottles of water, cups of coffee, and one person had brought a timer. The professor circled their names on the class roster, then calml...

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Threads of the Universe by Higdon Donell Armstrong V

Submitted to Contest #286

Romeo Monroe woke up with a jolt, gasping for air. His lungs burned, and his chest felt like it had been flattened. Around him, the hospital room buzzed faintly with life—a nurse adjusting an IV, the beeping of machines tracking his pulse.The crash came back to him in flashes. Screeching tires. Metal crumpling like paper. Then nothing but darkness.“You’re lucky to be alive,” the paramedic had whispered as they pulled him from the wreckage.But Romeo didn’t feel lucky. His body was whole, but something in him felt broken—misplaced like he had ...

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Bigger than the whole sky

Submitted to Contest #286

trigger warning: loss and grievingWe pulled up outside my parent’s farmhouse and grabbed George’s bag which was busting full of toys. You would think he was going for three days, not three hours. As we approached the front door, George suddenly had a barrage of questions.‘I cannot wait to play Lego Star Wars with Granny.’ ‘I know I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.’‘Where is it you’re going again?’‘We’re going to a church service for Emmerson’s mum.’‘Will Emerson be there?’‘Yes I’m sure he will be and I’m sure his big sister will b...

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Wilder Kirkland

Submitted to Contest #286

Wilder gripped the stern taffrail and stood firm in his decision. A stray wind caught the few strands of his black hair that had fallen free of the sailors braid, which tightly shackled the rest above the loose linen shirt that billowed over his bare chest. His knuckles were white and unyielding against the timber that rumbled under his grip; the railing undulating with every wave that cut around the impressive ship. Across the rising and falling seascape, he could still make out the shadowed line on the horizon that was his homeland. He had...

21 likes 14 comments 14
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No Good Deed

Submitted to Contest #286

From my spare room window, I can see Helen in the garden next door. She has her back to me, her feet planted wide apart with ham hock hands on beefy hips. She’s finally got round to dragging the Christmas tree outside, which she’s hauled on top of the brown bones of its predecessors. She’s breathless now, gulping in the still, cold air. Her sixth sense must feel my eyes on her, so she turns and waves. My friend, Helen, the ugliest woman in town. Helen of Troy’s beauty was such that it provoked men to war. Her namesake, the Helen in the ...

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Calling From Myanmar

Submitted to Contest #286

When he got pulled into the scam, young Junyu was a college grad living in Shanghai. At 22, he still lived with his parents and spent most of his time in his bedroom covered with pop star posters, the windowsill lined with collectible toy figurines.Junyu’s mom walked in. “You need to find a job,” she said, for what felt like the hundredth time. He had modeled for a few e-commerce shoots, but he hadn’t landed a spot for months. The Chinese economy was cratering, everyone said.“I’m a model,” Junyu groaned. “I need to focus on auditions. Rememb...

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The Memory Keeper

Submitted to Contest #286

Memories are fragile things, Sarah learned early. They slip through fingers like water, evaporate like morning mist, dissolve at the edges until only the faintest outline remains. Her first lesson came on a crisp autumn afternoon when her father sat in his study, surrounded by photographs that meant nothing to him anymore.Her grandmother's Alzheimer's was a slow, merciless thief. It didn't steal all at once, but in incremental moments—first, the names of distant relatives, then the recipes she'd perfected over decades, and finally, the faces...

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The Thirst

Submitted to Contest #286

The longest time Sarah has gone without acknowledging my existence is three weeks. Those were, without a doubt, the longest three weeks of my life. It took everything in me to merely exist, my spirit fading with each passing day. My world felt like a desert seeking water, my very foundation cracking. Sarah becomes like this when work consumes her. She tries to maintain a balance, but her drive overtakes her perfunctory attempts to include me in her world. When she has a deadline, her focus narrows into a tunnel of awareness that includes onl...

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The Letter He Never Sent

Submitted to Contest #286

Dawn seeped through the library’s arched windows, the light transforming the silence into something sacred. Samuel traced the leather spine beneath his weathered fingers, each crack and imperfection as familiar as the lines on his own palm. The gilt letters caught the light, flaring like captured fire, while shadows from the iron shelving cast prison-bar patterns across the floor. In twenty-three years of cataloging books, he had never felt time’s presence so keenly, had never heard the tick of the wall clock echo with such merciless precisi...

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The Last Trace of Me

Submitted to Contest #286

I don’t know if it’s the silence that keeps me awake at night or the fear of it. Sometimes, I think they’re the same thing. Silence doesn’t just mean quiet, it means absence. It means no one is left to call your name, no one remembers the sound of your voice or the way you used to laugh when the world still felt kind. Silence is Oblivion’s shadow, creeping in when no one’s looking. My name is Rina. I say it to myself sometimes, just to hear it. To remind myself that it exists. Rina. It’s soft, a name that doesn’t demand attention. I wonder i...

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Lest I Forget

Submitted to Contest #286

The field was unremarkable if considered within the context of all fields. There was grass, but upon closer inspection, there were bald patches that revealed muddy soil that lacked the fertility of deeper and darker soils. The grass was in competition with moss, clover and a whole host of neighbours that the less enlightened would refer to as weeds. The bigotry of the word weed made him feel awkward as he walked this field of his. And so he looked upon the bare hedgerow and wished for better days. Days where the hedges would wear wonderful c...

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My Dearest Jane

Submitted to Contest #286

In a quaint café, where the air was thick with the intoxicating aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the sweet temptation of pastries beckoned from the display, William found himself seated across from Jane. His heart, a heavy vessel brimming with emotion, swelled as he took in the delicate contours of her beauty. The world around them buzzed with laughter and the soft clinking of cups, yet for him, time seemed to bend, rendering everything else a mere blur. Jane, a radiant embodiment of warmth and grace, had always captivated him; her long, c...

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The boy, the sheep and the forest

Submitted to Contest #286

Doran had never travelled beyond the village before, and as he stood at the edge of the narrow dirt track winding into the distant hills, he was filled with anticipation of the journey ahead.  The two sheep, destined for market in the neighbouring village, tugged gently at their ropes and Doran felt a swell of pride at the responsibility his father had bestowed on him with this important task, but his mother’s parting words had instilled a lingering sense of trepidation in the young man.  "Stay on the path," she’d warned him that m...

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Whispered in Time

Submitted to Contest #286

She holds it gently, as she has for years. The paper is frail now, worn thin by time, its edges softened under the weight of memory. The string remains knotted tightly—just as it was the day he placed it in her hands. It crackles beneath her fingertips. She hesitates, afraid that if she holds it too tightly, the memory might disappear, dissolving like mist at dawn. She remembers. A small voice, full of excitement and something deeper—something sacred—tugged at her heart. "Open it slowly, Mama. You do NOT want to let it out." Tiny hands hover...

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