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Discover weekly, the best short stories

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

150+ Black Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. Discover the best new stories by Black authors, written to themed prompts and curated by our judges.

Black Short Stories – Page 2 of 10

Benjamin Franklin and his runaway slave named King

H.e. Ross

Weekly Contest #344

I was told this story about Ben Franklin, you know the American guy with the string and kite. This was years ago when I travelled over East to the town of Woodbridge and some Black fella was going on about an old relative of his who lived in Woodbridge. I liked the tale and wrote it down as I could remember. I call it, Ben Franklin and his runaway slave named King. When Benjamin Franklin was a kid he got signed on as an indentured servant to his really brutal older brother who ran a print shop in Boston in the British Colony of Massachuset...

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Tasha's Story

Johnthea Buskey

Weekly Contest #343

Tasha’s Story As Tasha placed her phone down on the bed, she felt nothing but happiness. She had just spoken with her boyfriend, and he had some things to do today but will call her later. She was so happy. He had become the man of her dreams. She had known him for years but this past year, things had become serious. She knew what the future would hold. Lots of traveling, lots of family function and great sex, if the past meant anything. She can’t remember being so happy. Before she got ready for the day, she decided to check out Facebook. ...

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Go To Her

H.e. Ross

Weekly Contest #342

Since I didn’t know what to expect at the Hotel Oloffson I dressed respectful of island custom in long pants at night and a better quality cotton shirt. By the time my taxi arrived I had to take the shirt off and walk around the circular driveway garden holding it in front to dry in the humid self created breeze of my own walking. My legs wouldn’t stop draining their juices as I walked, and my pants stuck to me like a scared cat. The shirt did not dry completely but I figured everybody else must be having the same problems, so I ascended th...

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Love Without Losing Myself

Weekly Contest #341

Sometimes Love Isn’t Enough “Sometimes the hardest lesson is learning that love alone cannot save us.” The scent of jerk chicken mingled with laughter and the clamor of taxi-horns. For a heartbeat, the world around Amara blurred—not from longing or hate, but from the quiet ache of remembering how much of herself she once poured into Andre. “Amara remembered the girl she’d been—soft-hearted, eager to love. Now, she stood rooted, no longer moved by Andre’s presence.” Andre had taken so much of her— and handed the best of what she gave to anoth...

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What We Never Said

LaLa DeVille

Weekly Contest #341

The soft glow of morning light filtered through the thin curtains of Ayana’s childhood bedroom, casting long, golden streaks across the familiar floor. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open as the faint scent of old wood and lingering warmth filled the air. She hadn’t been here in years, not since everything had changed. Something felt different. A quiet presence seemed to linger just beyond the glass door. Rubbing her eyes, Ayana pushed back the covers and stepped onto the cool floor, the room settling around her the way it always used to. ...

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Exploration

Safara Chambers

Weekly Contest #340

“You know, every time I come back into the room, you’re hitting that delete button. Are you getting any work done?” I ask, setting my mug of coffee on the end table. “You asked me that last time you got up. Then you blew up the bathroom. You know there’s aerosol spray in there, right?” “You’re changing the subject.” “I’m not changing the subject. I’m trying to focus, but the room still smells, and you keep interrupting me with questions.” She says as she runs her finger through her locs. I roll my eyes and go over to read what she’s written ...

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Culpabilité

Weekly Contest #339

“Culpabilité”By Valerie Fowler Set in the 1990s when home phones hummed, goodbyes took their time, and calls lingered in dead air before letting go. Pastel dawn nudges night from the sky over Pétion-Ville, Haiti. Warm rays press gently against the window, caressing Pierre's sleeping silhouette. Red hibiscus petals catch the first light, perfuming the air. The intense sweetness teases his nose. He stirs, resisting the cathedral chimes filtering into his dreams. Peace splinters as breath and shadow cling to him—a memory of something red and wr...

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Allergic to Coffee

Kim Walker

Weekly Contest #339

I’ve worked in coffee shops and in several restaurants where everyone was enjoying a cup of Swiss Mountain blend, or Mocha Java, or any of the fifty million other named coffees. So, was it the inhalation for up to twelve hours a day for ten years the culprit, or was it just a fluke? I just know I’ve never liked the taste of black coffee and according to my father, a crazy landlord who didn’t use sugar for sweetness; but a cube of sharp cheddar, and the many coffee drinkers I know, you’re not a coffee lover until you can drink a cup with noth...

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When The Avocado Tree Dies

Lehlabile Mabusela

Weekly Contest #339

Her hand trembled as she poured the boiling water into her mug. As she dropped a teabag into the mug, the rooibos teabag turned the water into a deep red-brown colour, the scent inviting and comforting. She let her special blend sit for about five minutes before bringing her pink-and-red polka dot mug to her split lips. Tumi was extra careful not to hurt herself any further. Tea in hand, she turned to balance herself carefully against the oak cabinet. She examined the wreckage and remnants from last night. Her breathing laboured and calculat...

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A Taste of Home

Gaelle Cesar

Weekly Contest #339

I rarely ever called her. Not because I hated my mother, but because I couldn’t bear the pain that came with it. Seeing her face on Face-time, or hearing her voice, each call was a reminder of what I left behind, of her absence, and of my guilt for learning how to live without her. The person on the other side was both familiar and unreachable. What haunted me the most wasn’t the years apart, it was how easily silence became a routine. I sat by the airplane window, staring into the sea, watching the waves crash onto the land below. My hands...

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If Romeo Read The Bible

Mai Angel

Weekly Contest #338

(Note: This story contains sensitive language and mentions self harm.) When you're locked up, the ways you can pass time become limited. Restricting access to positive entertainment and outlets to redirect negative behavior is intentional. The folks want us to feel every second of our sentence; they want us to remember how jail feels on our skin and how fear, uncertainty and survival weigh on the soul. Most days, I found myself drawing Amaria from memory. Before ending up in jail behind that gang shit, I'd never even thought of picking up a...

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ALMOST LOVE IS NEVER ENOUGH

Abby Abby

Weekly Contest #337

Almost Love The first warning sign was how quiet everything felt.Not peaceful, quiet in the way a house feels after someone has moved out but left their furniture behind. Abena noticed it during moments that should have felt complete: dinners that ended too neatly, conversations that circled but never landed, laughter that dissolved without echo. Nothing was wrong, exactly. And yet, something was missing.Kwame entered her life without disruption. He did not arrive with urgency or spectacle. He did not demand attention or promise trans...

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Mother Wound

Mosa Matela

Weekly Contest #336

The Contract This is not what I signed up for - to spend my life translating someone’s suffering into love. They say before we are born, we choose our own destinies, but it seems like I skipped the living and went straight into my personal hell. An eternity doomed by a singular cry, a longing for something that is owed to me. I did not agree to become fluent in pleasing before I learnt my own my name. I did not consent to measuring affection by tone, or learning that discipline is cloaked by silence. I was gifted everyday rituals, folded n...

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The Gig

LaLa DeVille

Weekly Contest #336

LaLa DeVilleThe Gig2,518 words The Gig Imani didn’t miss the stage.What she missed was the half-second before it—the moment when your name hasn’t been said yet, and your body hasn’t decided whether it’s going to cooperate, when you can still turn around, when the room hasn’t reached for you.That moment mattered because everything after it cost something. The lights weren’t the problem, nor was the applause. It was how people listened as if they were entitled to take something home with them. Like whatever she said belonged to them onc...

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90s Fine

Dana B

Weekly Contest #336

90s FineWord Count: 2718 “Your neighbors are here,” the host said.She leaned in so close to Lola’s shoulder that Lola caught the sharp, citrus bite of her cleaning spray.Lola glanced up out of habit.Her breath snagged.Perri.The world didn’t slow. It didn’t dim. But something inside Lola shifted—quiet, irreversible—like a truth she’d been outrunning had finally sat down beside her.Perri slid onto the booth seat so close their arms almost touched. Her face held no surprise, but her eyes carried a heaviness Lola hadn’t seen since the last nigh...

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