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Discover weekly, the best short stories

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

Contemporary Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. All the newest modern day stories to thrill and inspire, all in one place.

Contemporary Short Stories – Page 3

Silent Scars

Symone Rubin

Weekly Contest #364

This story includes hints of alcohol use, mental health struggles, and minor bits of sexual violence I wish she would take back everything she said to me. I know she won’t, but sometimes I still imagine a world where things could be different. I do that a lot. My mind keeps searching for a better version of my life, even though it always ends up the same. I dream about having friends who care, teachers who respect me, parents who actually listen, and men who see more than just how I look. My alarm blares through the room, loud and urgent. So...

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Chocolate Dipped Watermelon

Jolie Pandan

Weekly Contest #364

The characters names were altered, and most events were changed for the plot. Chocolate Dipped Watermelon An 8 year old boy was moving a box of ice cubes next to a machine with, standing in the kitchen. His favorite time was brunch.Shain smiled at his sister near him,with gratitude. "Hey, call for Mom." "Thiryeththir."Zayley, six years old, jumped and let out an a laugh as she began towards the doorway. She was satisfied of her ability to release any energy which annoyed her friends, and especially, her brother. She was calm around only ...

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Huxley's Wrath

MG Pollard

Weekly Contest #363

Huxley opened the heavy oak door and stepped out onto his porch. His neighbors hated his door, and they hated the look of his house, for that matter. All the houses on Tempest Way were off-white or beige, uniform, and matching. But not the Minton house. Huxley Minton’s house was bright yellow, with a sky-blue door. The Mintons were known as the neighborhood rebels who often did or said things just to get a reaction from the “normies.” Huxley did not like to go with the flow. Not only was this evident to his neighbors, but it was also never m...

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Taillights

Kevin Lind

Weekly Contest #363

Snow started falling around four in the morning, and by seven it was a good 14 inches deep on top of David Cornwall’s Buick. David stood at the kitchen window with his coffee and watched it come down, piling higher with each passing minute. "That's got to come off before it sets up," he said. "Sun gets at it, it turns to cement." "Just wait for the plow. He’s supposed to be by here around noon,” his wife Dorothy said. "It's in the lease, so they have to do it." "The plow." He set his cup on the sill with a scoff. "They’ll shove a berm up beh...

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Forgetful Freddie

Weekly Contest #363

Prompt: Begin or end your story with someone standing in the rain or snow.Secondary Prompt: Center your story around a character who is struggling with something no one else in their life knows about. Forgetful Freddie As the kids in my neighborhood would say, “it’s raining cats and dogs today.” I bet most of them would be outside splashing in huge puddles like they were spending a day at the beach. I saw no dogs or cats falling from the sky. Instead for me it was a cold heavenly dam that burst because I was standing in the middle of it. ...

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THE SECOND RAINCOAT

Frances Goulart

Weekly Contest #363

It was raining. Hard. It felt like the sharp, biting drops were headed just for her. Lindsay shivered inside the cheap Amazon-brand rain cape that felt like wet tissue paper around her shoulders. It really wasn’t keeping the rain out. And anyway it stopped at her waist where the rain continued to assault her, sloshing around her bare ankles. “Rain rain, go away, she muttered. And don’t come back another day.” Not that Lindsay didn’t have a real raincoat; she did. It was rubber duck yellow, one of those old-fashioned numbers that you’d find...

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Weightless

Weekly Contest #363

Chloe was not sure she could run anymore. Instead, she stood, her head beginning to spin, one hand clutched to her chest as she fought to steady herself. Her heartbeat mirrored the rain dripping from her fringe. The tension of everything that had happened weighed heavily on her. Chloe closed her eyes, hoping she would open them again and find she had awakened from a dream. Pain surged through her body, a pain so intense she felt as though she could crumble at any moment.She leaned against the cold brick wall. Streetlights flickered, illumina...

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Gregory with the Green Shirt

M. N.

Weekly Contest #363

TW: minor profanityI feel their eyes on my green shirt and worn-out black pants.And my shaggy, shaggy hair.I lower my gaze, because what I don’t see won’t bother me, shouldn’t bother me. So I keep walking in the same circle near the exam hall. Not nearly enough. Not nearly enough.I look at my phone. 16:43. My heart starts beating fast, or faster than it has for the past hour. I’m always like this on days like these. I have to be.I get a text from my mom asking if the taxi driver drove me here on time. I don’t reply. I can’t reply. Anything, ...

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THE WEIGHT OF SILENCE

Izabella Fiorentino

Weekly Contest #363

THE WEIGHT OF SILENCE Some women are born mothers. They may not play with dolls or brush their hair, they may not play house or being a teacher or having a tea party.However, they start reading the signs of distress in others early and take care of other people while still being the ones needing care themselves.When she was a kid, Ella had never thought of getting married or having kids. She was bored to tears when her cousins wanted to play the bride or when they wanted to be pretend- moms with their baby dolls.Her parents had never emphasi...

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The Fitting

SA Merrin

Weekly Contest #363

The boutique sat on a quiet stretch of downtown, the kind of place with old brick buildings and narrow storefronts squeezed together like they were sharing secrets. Inside, the air was warm and smelled faintly of steamed fabric and vanilla. Racks of dresses lined the walls, soft whites and muted creams hanging like ghosts waiting for bodies. A few other brides were scattered around the room with their entourages, laughing too loudly, clapping at every turn of a skirt.Marta, the seamstress, moved between them with pins in her mouth and a tape...

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Maybe I'm Not the Only One (Based on real events, but also completely made up)

Sarah Bachelder

Weekly Contest #363

I wanted this. I dreamed about it. Ached for it in the times when I thought it would never happen. No other alternative, no matter how alluring, came close to feeling as right and purposeful. If I could have this one thing, it would be the greatest fulfillment of my entire existence. (I’m aware that seems a bit overdramatic, but I’m feeling the drama today and this is my story.)Eventually, later than I had hoped, it happened. My dream. It was beautiful and painful and real. So real. Sometimes too real if I’m being honest.I knew it wouldn’t b...

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The Blank Page

David Poslad

Weekly Contest #363

Every single time Ruby sat down on her small wooden desk, her laptop would show the usual blank page. Opened in front of her, with the cursor blinking on the sheet, indicating the need to finally add the words that would make her story flood the pages. Every morning she would sit down and try to concentrate, to channel her thoughts into writable constructions. But her ideas seemed to be extracted from her. Just like when she decided to throw away all of her belongings. Her mother used to collect all kinds of things. She would pile them up on...

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The Man Everyone Knew

Weekly Contest #363

Ten thirty was morning tea, the first break of the day. Every morning I’d push my chair under my computer and wander downstairs, out onto the street. Only a few minutes before I had to get back to work, but long enough for a cheeky smoke break. This morning I’d run out. I walked quickly up Union street to Frank’s corner shop. On the step outside sat Colin. Everyone in Newcastle knew Colin. Or Pete. Or Chris. It depended on who you asked. Black rags that long ago used to be clothes. Bare feet and wrinkled hands etched in grime. A long grey be...

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A Life Untouched

Megan Miller

Weekly Contest #363

There’s a filmy layer of mold floating on the surface of my old coffee, cup cold and untouched since I left my office for the long weekend. The fluff of growth is a flat cloud in a puddle of liquid mud. It could be worse, honestly. It could be a left-behind latte with corroded chunks of milk emitting a rancid, sour odor. This is just drip coffee in a kitten mug. I imagine moving to clean it. It would take about forty-five seconds to pick it up and pour it down the drain, only a flick of the wrist. Tossing my backpack in a spare chair instead...

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Nothing happened

Martyna Huza

Weekly Contest #363

“Were you guys photographing fairies today?” Mira looked up from the timetable. Rain had darkened the shoulders of her jacket and curled several strands of hair against her cheeks. Something silver caught beneath the shelter’s fluorescent light. “Huh? No. My teacher would never come up with such a fantastic idea for a workshop.” “Then why do you have glitter in your hair?” “I do?” Mira dragged her fingers through it. They came away damp and sparkling. “Oh, right. I thought the stickers needed more shine, so I added glitter during lunch.” “Wh...

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