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Include the word “hero,” “mask,” or “truth" in your story’s title.

Posted in Short Story on Aug 15, 2025

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✍️ 61 stories

Daniel: A Different Kind of Hero

Submitted to Contest #316

Daniel: A Different Kind of HeroGary Grissom Daniel looked as if he had stepped off the screen of a horror film. He was tall and muscular but had a large head with dark brooding eyes and a four-inch scar on the right side of his face. His lower lip was usually pressed down by his tongue which protruded slightly. Daniel always sat in the back of his classes at Dana Jr. High and ignored the lessons the teachers were giving. Everyone feared him. That is, everyone except coach Brock who saw athletic potential in Daniel. “Stick your tongue back i...

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Truth...

Submitted to Contest #316

Content Warning: this story contains themes of war, death (including child) and trauma. Scenes may include implied abuse and emotional distress. “They have returned. After a decade overseas, our heroes are finally home. Triumphant! Just behind these walls, the first private reunions are taking place. We are waiting…”A reporter spoke into the camera with polished enthusiasm. Hair lacquered, posture impeccable, a grin on her red-tinted lips.On cue, another voice chimed in, a woman in a neatly tailored blazer, smiling just as the light on her c...

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THE HERO'S HERO

Submitted to Contest #316

"So, we have been told that you have some kind of magical healing powers...is this true?" Barbara inquired. "No, no magical powers" I replied. "What type of powers would you call them then?" as Barbara tried prying for more information. "I'm truly not sure why you brought me here, on this set, or why you want to interview me. I'm just a normal man with nothing special about me." Trying to evade and escape any further questioning. "Well, we have secret film footage of you in Bill Walton Jr.'s hospital room. Would you like to see it?" as Barba...

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The Good Mask

Submitted to Contest #316

What do you do with your life once you have done everything that there is to do? That is the question I asked myself just a few months ago. I was just a demon living in Hell. I had done every bad thing you could think of and… well… it was getting boring. So what do you do when you have done the whole “being bad” thing? You try your hand at being good. I figured a good place to start was with The Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. They are always doing such terribly good things. It used to make me sick… until it made me curious...

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Make me a Hero

Submitted to Contest #316

Popularity was waning for heroes such as Collider. There were fewer calls from officials for help. So, like other heroes, he began to look for ways to improve his public image. He consulted many marketing groups for their opinion, paying them handsomely. “You need to take a vacation,” one group suggested. “You need to show that crime doesn't cause you stress. Document your time away. Watch how people consider you to be like them.” Another firm suggested he change his suit’s colour scheme, or lose the cape. “You need a refresh. The suit is ol...

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Out of Service: The Hero Behind the Mask Is Not Here Right Now

Submitted to Contest #316

“Rex, come to the door,” Aida said, resting one hand on the hard wood as she pressed her head against it. “I know you're in there.”Her plea was met with silence. She sighed and knocked on the door of the apartment again.“Please, just speak to me! I promise to not ask for anything. I just want to know you're okay.” She glanced down at the pile of newspapers crowding the ground in front of the door. The place where a welcome mat used to be. Today's issue sat on top, with those same faces yet again. “They're not even mad, they understand you tr...

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The Innocent Hero

Submitted to Contest #316

The Innocent Hero We all need heroes, no matter how old or young we are. Someone we look toward or to, to give us inspiration, someone who lifts us up when we are down. Some get paid large sums of money, sometimes they get a thank you, and sometimes they receive praise they shy from because they are just being themselves. I know of just a man. He saved me when I was ten years old and taught me in one “at bat” that life can change on a dime, or perhaps a diamond.Not long after my mom had moved us to the town where I spent most of my life, I ...

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Hal's Mask

Submitted to Contest #316

HAL’S MASK Hal of W’ik looked ahead, saddlebags and crossbow across his own shoulders since he had lost his horse – by his own folly earning an eagle’s Word of Ban. A double gentle arc of heavy rope crossed the River Cale between two tall oaks. He pulled himself to his feet on the branch he had reached and worked his way around to the makeshift bridge. A hint of wind rose and moved the trees imperceptibly; the ropes slowly flexed above the deep current. Here at the ropes’ end, the two strands came close together, but they drooped farther as...

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The Hero's Mask

Submitted to Contest #316

Nessa’s world was a universe of silent, brittle things. Sunlight filtered through the grimy arched windows of the Grand Archives, illuminating a thousand swirling motes of dust that danced over scrolls, forgotten manuscripts, and ledgers bound in sun-bleached leather. Her days were a quiet rhythm of cataloging, repairing, and re-shelving the city's history, a history that Commander Valerius and his Ministry of Purity were keen to rewrite.Valerius was a man who believed in the eradication of inconvenience. History, he declared, was an inconve...

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The Invisible Hero

Submitted to Contest #316

When Monie was five, I began going to her house for playdates. At that time she could see me as easily as she saw her parents. She would give a silly child’s grin and point to the stuffed animal vending machine. “You try it, Grey.” She would help me use it, and then a stuffed bear would pop out. “You’re so lucky!” she would tell me. I’d smile, glad to be useful. Then one day at the park, around a year later, Monie fell from the swings. I caught her before she could hit the ground, and she thanked me profusely. She didn’t seem surprised tha...

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Riposte

Submitted to Contest #316

The hum from the ceiling lights has been stuck at a steady B-flat since Monday. I keep track of these things. Patterns keep me sane.Numbers fill my screen — quarterly reports, projections, the kind of numbers my boss pretends to understand before forwarding to someone higher up. I’m halfway through reconciling a set of discrepancies in the Carter file when a shadow falls across my desk.A thump. The stale smell of ink. “Hot off the press,” Miller says, grinning like he wrote the damn thing himself. His shirt collar’s folded under on one side ...

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The Mask of the Midnight Racer

Submitted to Contest #316

The first time Jordan Reyes heard the roar, he thought it was thunder. It was close to midnight, and he was locking up his father’s auto shop on the edge of the industrial district. The streetlamps flickered over cracked pavement, graffiti-tagged warehouses, and the rusting skeleton of an old freight depot.Then the sound came again - not thunder, but a symphony of engines, the kind that vibrates in your ribs and makes your teeth buzz. It grew louder, until a blur of color and chrome shot past at impossible speed. One car, then another, then ...

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Jake’s Mask

Submitted to Contest #316

Jake wears a mask.  It is a very special kind of mask. Not the kind made of cloth or plastic, nor one designed for costume parties or pandemics. His mask is invisible. Every day, in the presence of others, Jake disguises himself as a content, if not outright happy, worker, neighbor, customer, visitor. His eyes glitter with warmth, his mouth curls into a small, practiced smile, and his voice carries the tone of someone genuinely pleased to see whoever crossed his path. And people notice. The mask also speaks. It greets, asks qu...

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Murphy's Rebellion; Hero of a Forgotten Past

Submitted to Contest #316

(Content Warning: Contains some adult language) The city slept. All but one man were curled in their beds, dreaming of freedom, liberty, and better times. All but one man had accepted their comfortable, albeit boring, fate—handouts of food from the nutrition center, clothing from the uniform shop. All but one man had given up on living for mere existence and production. In the wee hours of the night, that one man walked toward the city center with purpose. John Murphy didn’t know what awaited him, but he knew where he was going, and he knew...

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My grandpa, the hero.

Submitted to Contest #316

There it was, in all its horryfing existence. No one was sure who the father was, the mother however, was lying on the floor. There was no blood, since the woman on the floor, instead of skin had some kind of tweed-looking fabric as body covering and instead of abdominal organs, she seemed to be stuffed with some cotton-like material, she was like a human size rag doll, thread people they were called. She was almost cut in half and the cotton-like stuff was spread all over the room, they had put a cloth on her face. Edith looked away, covere...

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