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Discover weekly, the best short stories

Looking for a steady supply of african american short stories? Every week thousands of writers submit stories to our writing contest.

African american Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. Whether you want to read about African American author's hopes and resilience or their unique struggles, you'll find what you're looking for here.

African american Short Stories – Page 2

Banana Boy

Weekly Contest #354

Banana Boy, Black Boy, bright like the day, and as settled as nighttime on an old forgotten road. Always on that sill, never leaving, never sleeping, never anything but passed by. Cause who’s gone bother with a vase, when they don’t know what it holds. They only look for flowers. He looks out the window at the wide, flat, shade giving leaves. He looks at the sky, eyes half closed, while it weeps. He doesn’t mind that his leg’s all wet, the one outside, resting flat against the wall. Even as his pants hang heavy, water-soaked and dripping wit...

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Constellations Between Us

Kaliyah Nash

Weekly Contest #354

“I remember,” the voicemail whispered. Nova Carter sat frozen on the edge of her bed as those two words filled the tiny apartment bedroom she shared with her little brother. Outside, rain tapped softly against the windows while distant sirens bled through the city night. Her father’s voice sounded older. Smaller somehow. Like life had finally worn holes through him too. Nova pressed the phone tighter against her ear. Static crackled. Then softly: “I’m sorry.” The message ended there. No explanation.No reason for disappearing four years ago.N...

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The Right Thing To Say

Weekly Contest #354

“You’ve always been so quick to say your opinions, Kamiyah.” Ma gives the navy beans a stir, running the spoon along the bottom of the pot, making sure none of the bits too close to the heat stay stuck long enough that getting them off’ll be a workout when they’re transferred from the fire to a bowl. “People ask for it, Ma. He did.” I say simply, picking up a green bean from my pile and pressing my thumbnail into it till the stem pops off in one smooth motion. Mama stirs a little faster, shaking her head side to side. “Mmhm, yeah, alright, ...

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Beautifully Broken

A.J .

Weekly Contest #354

Trigger Warning *This story contains suicidal ideations, mentions of self-harm, mental health, and grief.* 1 year, 8 months, and 17 days.I hovered my pen above my journal before setting it down and flipping through past pages.1 year 8 months 16 days.1 year 5 months 2 days.1 year 1 month- you get the picture. Taking a deep breath, I looked out the window. There wasn’t much to see; it was the middle of the night. It should have comforted me, but I didn’t need daylight to see the horrors. Quinn's leg somewhere out in the desert sands. The...

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From the Front lines to the Front Porch: Memoir of a Matriarchal Soldier

Ne Kwan Perkins

Weekly Contest #354

The dirt of Fort Bragg is a jealous thing; it stains the soul with a rusted, iron-bound persistence that thirty-five years of rhythmic "left-right-left" cannot shake. My journey began in the crucible of the Corps—a foundation of tempered steel that carried me through the humid bayous of the Louisiana Guard and the steadfast, silent ranks of the Army Reserve. For three and a half decades, my pulse was regulated by the ticking clock of the standard and the rigid, uncompromising geometry of the formation. From the heavy, paternal mantle of the ...

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"Keeper of the Roots"

Ne Kwan Perkins

Weekly Contest #353

“Keeper of the Roots”Ms. Kwan PerkinsWord Count: 1909 Élise Noire was born at twilight when the Mississippi River rose higher than it had in years, swollen with light from the full moon and secrets. The midwife swore she heard the river call the baby’s name before her mother ever spoke it. Folks in Tremé said that meant something — a child claimed by water, a child the land itself would watch over. But Élise didn’t know any of that growing up. She only knew she felt things other people didn’t. The hum beneath her feet when she walked ba...

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After Dusk

Weekly Contest #352

“This beach really is something, huh?”Martin sighs behind his sunglasses, locs strewn any kind of way over the towel. The sound of waves crashing against the shore nearly drags him away before he can form a response.“Yeah,” he exhales into the warm, salty air. “Sure is.”“You think you might wanna come inside soon?”He crosses his arms behind his head. “It’s still nice out.”“Well… it’s just…” Andy paces behind him. “Em already said she might not make it tonight, and the rest of the group is already inside playing games.”“Go on inside. I’ll be ...

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Exceptionalities

Marie Ange Diaz-Cervo

Weekly Contest #352

Driving has always been my quiet reset button—the place where my thoughts finally line up instead of running into each other. The other day, I got in the car with no real plan. I usually head toward South Jersey, something familiar, something easy. But this time, I felt pulled in a different direction, so I drove north. I was craving water—something peaceful like a lake, a river, maybe even the ocean—just somewhere I could breathe and think. Eventually, I found myself near Lake Hopatcong. I followed the signs, curious and a little excited, l...

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Bothered

Weekly Contest #352

Celia wasn’t sure why anyone would knock on her door at this hour, so when she first heard the tap–tap-tapping, she ignored it. Maybe it was the wind. Maybe it was a group of bemused children, upon hearing that she was a hoodoo woman and a heathen, making bets about who would dare disturb her, and then, once discovered, running away from her door, shrieking gleefully. Maybe it was a dead limb from the peach tree in her yard. Though once thriving and fertile, it now stood rotting, sticky knots of sugared-over black sap stuck to its trunk. No...

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Timing

H.e. Ross

Weekly Contest #352

I guess interesting is the word of wonder at why I look at my watch when waiting for the day break? I sit in a damp mood with anxiety looking for relief only gained by that sprig that lightens the darkness to morning. My watch had a hand that slides over a marked number five and another hand that has just passed the same number. It is dark all round me with on the tinted colours in my cockpit and up there in the sails. The mainsail pulls with drips that are invisible, just heard or just known to be there. I sit up recognising that I had slu...

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426: Fade to Black

Kim Walker

Weekly Contest #352

426: Fades to Black While in a coma, I dreamt about things that had happened on this date throughout my life; although I didn’t know it was a dream, it looked like a movie in vivid colors.My mother was 5’2“tall, 110 lbs., soaking wet, and carried a “Dirty Harry” .38-caliber revolver. I remember the day she picked it up from the gun shop. I was only 12; she said, “I’d rather have it and never need it than need it and not have it.” All I could think was that it was too heavy for her little body. I saw her put the fear of God in Cousin Lisa’s f...

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Royal Blue Lies Inside The Eyes of Heaven

Michael Neal

Weekly Contest #352

This story is inspired by the song The Soul Controller by Ghostface Killah Maurice Powers should have just said no when Isaac Aguilar asked him if he wanted to make some easy money. That was the exact reason why he was saying silent prayers in Isaac’s passenger seat. Isaac sped through the streets of Raleigh like he didn't have 2 ounces of weed in a back pack in the backseat. “Maurice chill the fuck out, you are making me nervous.” Isaac says. “Bruh, how the fuck you not going to tell me you had weed in the car before I got in this bitch?”...

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The 614 Blues

DeSean Weems

Weekly Contest #352

The red eviction notice left on the door tasted like salt. It was sharp and slightly metallic. Behind me, the morning air was a heavy, suffocating gray that felt damp. There wasn’t much time left to pack until we’d hear the sheriff arriving. I turned away from the threshold with the lingering sting in my throat. The kids moved through the only home they’d ever known, and their footsteps sounded like purple thuds. Upon grabbing the first box, our former apartment looked as though it was being bleached out, replaced by the sapphire blink of th...

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After Glow

DeSean Weems

Weekly Contest #351

What should have been a normal Thursday dinner turned into a complaint session. The air was thick with spaghetti and teenage entitlement. Between bites, my three boys were griping about how their current track shoes were trashed; not having the latest sneakers was practically a social death sentence. I looked at their plates of food and healthy, unaware faces, trying to preach the usual sermon of gratitude, but my voice felt like a ghost; they weren’t hearing me, but instead waiting on their turns to express more dismay.  After the tabl...

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Unknown Sailor

H.e. Ross

Weekly Contest #351

It was a beautiful San Francisco day. Created for boat, sail and sea. The breeze was starting to show a potential for anything. I smiled at pulling the main and mizzen sail covers back and folding them. Three seagulls were cawing in disagreement about something while circling the marina. The cumulous moved slowly above the distant hills across the Bay making an undulating shadow play over brown and green mounds. The Bay was crisp with wavelets and green with invitation to a good sailing party for three: the Bay, Lizard King and me. I look...

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