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Discover weekly, the best short stories

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

Fiction Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. If you’re looking for the best fiction short stories to read online, we’ve got you covered. Wide-ranging and ever-curious, these free short stories will meet your reading needs.

Fiction Short Stories – Page 3

The Pale Man who Dreams of Draco's

Weekly Contest #363

The cold wind blew with lingering whispers, delving into the minds and ears of the tenants who did their best to ward them off but to no avail. Nothing seemed to be able to combat the frost and potential evil that loomed in the night for countless moons. A meeting was to take place before the day ended.“What is this devilry?” A fat old mule of a tenant said to another, shivering; putting on his warm loungewear.“I can’t possibly say.” said the mustached, one-eyed man, in his night gown and thick woolly jacket, “Sir Sebastian? God, where is th...

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Weather The Storm

Weekly Contest #363

This story has been revised following the thoughtful feedback of fellow writers... The taste of old copper bit into my tongue. Around me, the wood of The Albatross did not just creak; it shrieked. Every oak rib of the merchant vessel groaned under the weight of the Atlantic, which had turned into a churning, frothing black. "Hold her steady, you miserable dogs!" I roared, my voice cutting through the howl of the gale. Somewhere forward I heard one of the men let out a cry of pure fear as a wave crashed over the gunwale — a sound that stole m...

47 likes 84 comments 84
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Gregory with the Green Shirt

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, ...

12 likes 5 comments 5
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What the River Remembers

Weekly Contest #363

Mara Vale stood in the pelting rain, her coat plastered to her body, and watched the river strain to remember her. Each torrential drop pelted her face like icy needles while the dark water gnawed at the muddy banks—edging closer to her boots, curling around exposed roots, dragging fallen branches into its hungry depths. Twenty years had passed since that night, but the hollow bend where the current vanished into shadow looked unchanged—the same gnarled sycamore leaning precariously over the water, the same splintered fenceposts rotting into...

10 likes 3 comments 3
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Many a True Word Spoken in Jest

Weekly Contest #363

It was the day after the grand feast.The Fog Lake Ferox wind of the previous evening had blown itself out.Most of the Arthurian characters in the Fog Lake below Malory Tennyson’s Cloudbank Cabin for Arthurian studies were still in their beds in recovery mode.Dagonet the Jester was one exception. He was sitting atop an upturned rock in the meadow beside the tournament arena, looking like a model for the Joker in a deck of playing cards.He was working on the material he would present when he entertained in The Tavern the following week. He was...

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The Fitting

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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In the Corner

Weekly Contest #363

The first time Josephine Pratt saw one, she was reaching for a box of cereal.It was a Tuesday evening at the Safeway on Merchant Street, fluorescent lights humming their eternal monotone above the aisles. Her hand extended toward the Special K, fingers splayed, when something moved in the corner of her right eye. Something that shouldn't move. Something wet.She turned her head sharply.Nothing. Just the orderly rows of breakfast foods, their bright boxes promising fiber and heart health and morning vitality.Josephine stood very still, her han...

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

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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A Life Untouched

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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Gnomebody Asked You

Weekly Contest #363

The gnome in the neighbor’s garden judges me. I swear it.His smile is too wide, teeth too big, eyes too empty. But the way he’s posed—arm outstretched—it feels like he’s pointing and laughing as I walk by. Is it something I’m wearing, or how I’m walking, or is my hair not right? His eyes always follow.All my life I wanted to be noticed—but it being from a garden gnome was not on my bingo card.I hover behind the living room curtains, pulling them back just enough to avoid his gaze. But I catch his big blue eye staring back. Oh, God, did he se...

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The Drifter

Weekly Contest #363

Cold, metallic droplets leapt from the railing of the fire escape directly above. The white splotches swimming across his vision began to fade. A familiar voice pierced through his scattered thoughts. Call him soft. A soft, wannabe thug. The Drifter groaned and propped himself up on an elbow. A grocery coupon and crumpled Polaroid sat half-submerged in a murky puddle next to him. “You’re soft,” he said, dabbing the fresh gash across his eyebrow with a fingertip. “Just a soft, wannabe thug.” The man stopped and turned back around. “You must ...

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Guilty conscience

Weekly Contest #363

Guilty conscienceRichard tried to pretend it was just another ordinary day. The driving and the clients just about kept the gnawing suspicion at bay but the call came, the sentence dropped. Madeleine rang from the hospital and announced tearfully: ‘they have to amputate’. He stopped on the side of the country road, slumped against the wheel, and dropped his head, surrendering to sorrow. His son, his beautiful gifted son, maimed forever, where it hurt the most. He knew he was too proud of him, he was aware he had been living for his son, soa...

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My Friend Wolfgang

Weekly Contest #363

I suppose I shouldn't complain about my childhood. But because this is my book I will. One word could characterize it: boredom. I was raised by my nanny and taught by a governess. My father was present for the most minimal amount of times. Every night we would get an hour or so together where me, my father, and my mother sat together in the parlor. I would sit board straight and wait to be spoken to. My father would sit with his legs elegantly crossed in such a thoroughly masculine way and my mother would do her needle point and pretend to ...

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letters from sister balloue

Weekly Contest #363

Noble. Her family thought she was so noble. It had been three weeks since she’d left for her mission. She was to preach the gospel and to serve the people of Paris, France. Paris, France! Everyone had gasped and grinned when she’d told them where she had been called to serve. Beware of pickpocketers. Write often. My little missionary. I’m so proud of you. But there was nothing to be proud of. As much as she wished she was the girl who was going to Paris, France as a missionary; to teach the gospel, to bring people unto Christ, she was nowhe...

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Boyak

Weekly Contest #363

Contains references to child trafficking. No graphic descriptions. Boyak puts on his boots. Always the left one first, then the right one. And the shoelaces have to fall into just the right kind of casual carelessness. He used to watch his father tie his boots like this every morning. And then, one morning. Boyak clenches his jaw and stomps his feet hard on the ground. He stands up and immediately has to bend forward just to get through the door. He marches through the city with long strides. It's only morning, but it's already hot. Tourists...

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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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