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Discover weekly, the best short stories

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

Creative nonfiction Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. The creative nonfiction stories on this page deliver exactly what it says on the tin: true stories told in weird and wonderful ways.

Creative nonfiction Short Stories – Page 3

Time couldn't save us

Weekly Contest #370

I woke up in a panic to the loud beeping alarm of the smoke detector . And the need to panic or act fast was real. I could barely see or breathe. My bedroom was clouded with thick dark smoke. But in this panic all I could remember was my little brother. "JUJU" I called out, as I moved toward the glowing red light to find my way out of my room and into the firey inferno that was once a hallway. I kept calling out to my brother as I cautiously moved through the danger surrounding me. His room was completely lit up in flames. But a moment of re...

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Why I Wear Monarch Wings

Weekly Contest #369

The monarchs rest high in the trees. They drift in the leaves. They hide from the wind. I do not hide. My wings look like theirs. Orange. Black. Bright. But I am not a monarch. I am something older. I travel beside them. I listen to the memory inside their wings. I ride the cold mountain air. I catch raindrops after storms. I drink the light from them. That is how I keep the fire in my chest.Below me, the Blue Ridge Mountains roll like a dark blanket. The monarchs are flying south. They do not ask why. They do not ask where to go. Their bodi...

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He Has Dad Now

Weekly Contest #369

Author’s Note: This story is based on true events and contains references to suicide and the loss of loved ones.  Mom climbed up the basement stairs without my little brother’s urn. I stared at her hands—one on the banister, the other dangling at her side. I frowned. “Where’s Christopher?” Her eyes lifted briefly to mine before dropping back to the stairs. “He has Dad now. I think it’s okay to leave him here this time.”  She flipped the switch, blanketing the stairwell behind her in darkness. Her hand brushed my shoulder as she pas...

25 likes 14 comments 14
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For My Daughter

Weekly Contest #369

I felt as if there should be tears. I felt as if I should have grief or stronger emotions. It all felt incredibly mundane, however. It’s not that I wasn’t sad; I knew I’d miss her, but there was a strong sense of relief now that she was dead. I felt I could finally breathe. I felt like a pressure and a weight had been lifted off of me. I grieved more for the mother she never was, the one I always wanted, because now she’d never get the chance. I grieved more for the people whose lives she more positively affected, those who would be sad to s...

6 likes 0 comments 0
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Parenting Perils

Weekly Contest #369

Parenting Perils At the age of seventy-six, I look back at parenting as the most challenging endeavor of my life. When my only child, Russell, graduated from Kindergarten Montessori School, the staff praised his above-average verbal skills and keen insight. I took full credit, an illusion of control which worked against me whenever my boy struggled. By the age of three, he wasn’t yet toilet- trained. “He should be out of diapers by now,” declared my sister-in-law. “You need to be firm and spank him if necessary.” She never had her own childr...

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The Goose on the Road

Weekly Contest #369

I regret leaving that goose on the road.  I drove through the strands of morning sun, filtered by the swaying trees above. I sang quietly and clumsily along with the music as I let my car accelerate through each winding turn. Rolling down my windows, I felt the young day’s chill on my cheeks. And in my blissful unawareness, I let my eyes drift; rolled my attention from morning doves to dew drops on the grass. And that's when I saw her. On the opposite side of traffic, laying right up against the closest shoulder to me, the goose ri...

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Sean II

Weekly Contest #369

I regret my poor memory. It keeps me loving you so long.An unsweet torture made more bitter than a strong barley tea.It is more bitter than the dandelion root I blow on as I pray that God grant me my wish of an easier life. Hot, naked summer sun, unclouded kisses my skin into a reddish, tan hidden sleep of a wildcat, stretching and yawning and stressed at the great, dark maw within my chest. Swallowing up all joy and all romance, I beat my brow, I beat my chest. These breasts could not allure you nor like mountain mists cool your desire...

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Tell him I forgive him

Weekly Contest #369

Please note: this story hints at sexual abuse of a child. There is nothing explicitly mentioned. It also covers the death of the guilty parent. Again, nothing explicit. Both are hinted at rather than described. "Tell him I forgive him." Those were the last words she ever communicated to her father. Not “I love him”.Not “I’m coming”. Not “tell him I’m sorry”. Just four words, passed through another person because even at the very end there could be no conversation between them. Her stepmother had contacted her with the news. Her f...

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I Regret Asking For Help

Weekly Contest #369

The older I get, the more I think about the things that remain after people are gone. Not just the things they leave behind in boxes or photographs, but the things they leave behind in other people. A sentence someone said years ago. A habit they passed down without realizing it. A scar. A lesson. A memory. Sometimes I wonder what I have left behind in my children. I wonder which pieces of me they carry. I wonder if they remember the good things or if the mistakes I made became louder than everything else. There are some things I wish I coul...

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Vorfreude

Weekly Contest #369

The soft silence that grows into a hollow echo fills the void within my entire being. From the ringing in my ears to the mindless fidgeting of my fingers. I long to talk to someone. I crave intellectual stimulation. I yearn to learn of experiences I have never dreamt of before. My teeth ache for the sweetness of one's smile. My eyelids grow heavy from the hallucinatory glimmer from another’s stare. My chest flutters at the hypothetical of a companion. Lost love tends to do these things to you, and unlove tends to amplify them.  I whisk...

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Get Your Tired, Your Poor, and Your Huddled Masses Out of Here

Weekly Contest #369

Get Your Tired, Your Poor, and Your Huddled Masses Out of Here“Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, and your government when it deserves it.”-Mark Twain My grandmother had a simple guiding principle in life- be kind. That’s good advice for how people should treat one another. Perhaps it would be a better world if it also applied to our institutions.I’m an old guy, but I’m still trying to learn. Frequent weeks-long visits to my daughter in Colorado have taught me quite a bit. I compare the experience to watching a football game...

19 likes 6 comments 6
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Time Will Tell

Weekly Contest #369

Eleven days ago, I moved Mom into memory care, and I finally tossed all of the plastic takeout utensils she had been hoarding in her kitchen junk drawer.  I say kitchen junk drawer because it is one of at least twenty junk drawers scattered through her house. Today the house feels heavier than usual. The boxes labeled “KEEP” and “TAKE TO MOM” are overflowing with random oddities. Meanwhile, the “DONATE” and “TOSS” boxes are looking bare.  This should be easy. Get the house cleaned out and put it on the market. In a seller's market ...

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Keep or Donate

Weekly Contest #369

“What do ya think—keep or donate?”Lorelei was holding up a shrunken red sweater that I had thrifted a few years back. It had been poorly washed and cared for when I pulled it off the rack at one of the many overpriced thrift stores in the Haight. Still, I was happy to pay $40 for it despite its condition. Its shrunken qualities were appealing at the time, but now its melted acrylic yarn and sleeves that stopped awkwardly at mid-wrist had secured its position at the bottom of my dresser.“Donate for sure,” I said decisively, despite the hesita...

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Two Lots Down

Weekly Contest #369

The older I get, the more I think about what we leave behind. Not just the big things. Not houses with our names on deeds. Not bank accounts or photographs carefully placed in albums. Not even the things people say at funerals when everyone suddenly remembers what a wonderful person you were. I think about the little things. The things nobody realizes they're carrying until years later. A phrase somebody always said. A certain way of laughing. The memory of someone sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee. A song. A smell. The way somebo...

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Boulder

Shortlisted for Weekly Contest #369 ⭐️

There is a rock in my living room. It's more of a boulder, really. It's large and cumbersome, rough in some spots and smooth in others. It’s a steel grey color, with flecks of black like freckles on summer worn skin. The rock is cold most of the time, but it warms when I rest my hand on it or lean against its side. Sometimes, it pulls warmth from me. Saps it away like a mosquito taking blood. In those moments, I become the cold one. Shivering so badly that I can’t hold a cup of water without it splashing on the ground. I forget tha...

28 likes 21 comments 21
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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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