She couldn’t take it anymore, her life had taken too many turns and was now twisted beyond untangling. Janey was approaching her twentieth birthday and had decided enough was enough. She packed her bags and sat down to write a letter. “What would she say?”, she wondered, “And would they even understand?” As the pen fumbled against the pages, she penned the words “I’m leaving” on a stark white sheet of notebook paper. “But where are you going from here”, a voice whispered. Enraged, she scribbled the words “anywhere but here” and she left, leaving the baggage behind her.
About the Creator
Natalie Stover
I’m a mother of 5, wife and teacher. I love creating conversations with words. I believe words are powerful things that can inspire action. If you can’t “do”, you can still create action with your words!
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More stories from Natalie Stover and writers in Fiction and other communities.
You Know A Tree By Its Fruit.
Mystery is a funny thing. A mysterious person intrigues us and keeps us hanging around to figure them out. A mysterious happening keeps our attention as we wonder and question, in hopes of ironing it all out. There is an arousal that happens with this thing called mystery. We are stirred with a passion to unravel it, to unlock it; and I, like many others, was awakened to this stirring by a pear-tree. That’s right, a mysterious tree that had either been planted alone or time had erased all signs of other tree “company”. There it stood on a forsaken highway, looking dry, displaced and fruitless to the passerby. I had driven by this tree many times in the last year and every time I did I felt sad for the tree. Sad it was here, sad it was alone, sad it was not bearing fruit; for that was its purpose and sadly this tree hadn’t seen the likes of a bud (in multiple forms of the word) in ages. It seemed so futile, a fruit tree with no fruit. Everyday I drove by and wondered why. Why leave it up? Why not just tear it down? It stuck out like a sore thumb anyway, and so the wondering began to build. Then one day as I was driving by I noticed an old shoe hanging from one of its branches. It caught my eye but honestly I didn’t give too much thought to it. I’ve seen stranger things, and in my neck of the woods hanging tennis shoes are not so uncommon. However, time passed and like a mystery, those shoes must have inspired people. For whatever reason they beaconed people to stop and little by little I noticed more shoes showing up.
By Natalie Stover5 years ago in Fiction
Pandora’s Burden
“My brother warned me to not accept gifts from the one who commissioned you,” said Epimetheus to the woman clad in silvery raiments standing at the entrance to the temple. Her silver tiara and the silver rings on her fingers and toes glinted in the firelight cast by torches set on either side of the doorway. Lingering in the shadows, beyond the reach of the flames as she was, he could not tell what she held in her hands. At first what appeared to be a box was perhaps a funerary urn, or maybe merely an apple.
By J. Otis Haasa day ago in Fiction
The Message I Received at 3:17 AM That Changed Everything
It was 3:17 AM when my phone buzzed. I wasn’t expecting any messages at this hour, and yet, there it was—a notification that made my heart skip a beat. The sender’s number was unfamiliar, a string of digits that didn’t seem to exist. At first, I thought it was a prank or a wrong number. But as I stared at the screen, a shiver ran down my spine. The night was silent except for the faint hum of my air conditioner. I had been reading on the couch, a cup of coffee growing cold beside me, when the message arrived. The glow from the phone screen illuminated my face in the otherwise dark room, and the words on it were simple, yet terrifying: “I know what you did.” My first reaction was disbelief. Who could know? And what exactly did they mean? I quickly checked my call log, my messages, even my social media—but nothing seemed out of place. My mind raced through every memory, every small secret I thought I had buried safely. Nothing made sense. I tried to brush it off. Maybe it was just a spam message, or someone trying to scare me. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the unease. Another buzz. Another message. “Check the drawer under your desk.” I froze. My desk. The one place I kept my old journals, letters, and random keepsakes. Hesitation gripped me, but curiosity got the better of fear. I walked over to the desk, my steps slow and deliberate, trying to avoid making a sound. The drawers were ordinary, the top one containing my stationery. But the second drawer… it was slightly open. I hadn’t left it that way. My hands trembled as I pulled it fully open. Inside was an envelope, yellowed with age, no name on it, no stamp. Just my initials written in hurried handwriting. I picked it up, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst from my chest. The envelope contained a single sheet of paper. The handwriting was familiar—it was my own. I had no memory of writing this letter, yet reading it sent chills through me. The message inside described events from a week ago, tiny choices I had made, conversations I had forgotten… and ended with a warning: “If you ignore this, everything will be revealed.” Panic set in. I checked the room again. Every light, every corner, every shadow seemed alive. The air felt heavier, as if something unseen was watching me. My phone buzzed again, this time with a single word: “Now.” I didn’t know what to do. Should I call the police? Should I delete everything? My instincts screamed to run, but I couldn’t leave the envelope behind. Something about it demanded attention, a silent command that I couldn’t ignore. Slowly, I unfolded the paper again. The words seemed to shift, almost as if the letter itself were alive. Memories I had blocked came rushing back—the lie I told my best friend, the small theft at a local store I thought no one noticed, the message I sent to someone I shouldn’t have. All of it documented here, perfectly detailed. How was this possible? How could anyone know so much? Suddenly, the room’s temperature dropped. My breath became visible in the faint light of the phone. I thought I saw a shadow move in the corner of my eye, but when I turned, nothing was there. My phone buzzed once more. Another message: “You can’t hide anymore.” Fear turned into a strange clarity. I realized that this was more than a threat—it was a reflection. The envelope, the messages, the unknown sender… it wasn’t about someone else. It was about me. About the parts of myself I had ignored, the secrets I thought I could bury, and the truth I had avoided facing. I spent the rest of the night going through everything I had ever hidden, every journal, every memory, every tiny choice that made me who I was. By morning, I felt exhausted but different. The fear hadn’t disappeared, but it had shifted into understanding. I couldn’t change the past, but I could face it—and maybe, just maybe, write a better future. To this day, I don’t know who sent the first message at 3:17 AM. Some nights, I still feel the chill when my phone buzzes, a reminder that the past never truly leaves us. But I also know this: sometimes, the scariest messages lead to the most important revelations. And every time I think I’ve escaped my past, I check my phone… just in case.
By Baseer Shaheen 7 days ago in Fiction
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