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Discover weekly, the best short stories

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

150+ Historical fiction Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. Whether you’re looking to step back into ancient civilizations, the 19th-century, or anywhere in between, our collection of historical fiction stories is here to keep you riveted.

Historical fiction Short Stories – Page 5 of 10

The Shaft

Weekly Contest #348

The photograph is bad. Grainy, taken at an angle, the colors flattened by whatever light they could get down there. You can make out a bison on its side, entrails suggested more than drawn. Beside it a figure — human, or meant to be — horizontal, arms stiff, a bird's head where a face should be. To the left, a stick with a bird perched on top of it. The bird is not doing anything.He is the only man painted in the cave. He is also the worst drawing in the entire cave.Nothing else like it appears anywhere.It was painted at the bottom of a shaf...

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A Grandad’s Confession To His Grandson, 1888, London, England

Weekly Contest #348

Here in my hand, lad, lies the letter of admission of my guilt for some very grave crimes that stumped law enforcement and scared the prostitutes of the impoverished White Chapel Hill and remain a mystery still to this day. On Aug. 31, 1888, Mary Ann Nichols’ body was found. The keepsake box comes with this letter; you'll find a button from her dress inside with a smear of blood, mine and hers linked forever in the annals of history that remains our family heirloom box.In the annals of time, there shall come a day when men reflect upon the s...

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Little Bird

Weekly Contest #348

The smell of stale beer and chewing tobacco was violently replaced by crushed jasmine, baked stone, and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Elias gasped, his lungs filling with an impossibly dry, hot air. He wasn't on the sticky floor of The Rusty Spoke anymore. He was on a cool, tiled mosaic. He pushed himself up, his head throbbing with a rhythm that matched a distant, rhythmic clatter. Was it hoofbeats? No, it was hammers. He blinked, his vision swimming. Above him, a sky of deep, impossible indigo was pricked with stars that looke...

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Awkward Silence

Weekly Contest #348

Ever since Abraham killed his son Isaac, things have not been the same between them. They talk less, for one. There used to be more free-flowing, spontaneous discussion about any number of trivial things. A comment about sheep husbandry would elicit a joke, which would prompt a reminiscence, which would slow and then interrupt completely whatever task was in progress, and soon the two men would be sitting face to face, cross-legged on the ground or perched on a large rock, chattering until sundown.Now they avoid talking about sheep.They used...

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Helpless

Weekly Contest #347

When I was a child, my mother told me that the world can turn its back on you, but whatever challenges life throws at you, only you can choose how that shapes who you become. I used to believe that; it seemed perfectly logical at the time, but as you grow older, you view the world through a different lens than when you were little. As you grow older, the world ceases to call out to you the way it did when you were a kid. The sun doesn't shine as bright, your smile becomes an empty mask for the agony within you, and your dreams become a burde...

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Bosworth Field

Weekly Contest #347

Bosworth Field “Bring the prisoner!” the bailiff shouts. The man in strange, ragged clothes is hauled into the King’s chamber with rusty chains clanging as he shambles. His head and arms are in wooden stocks. He has a smile on his face, and fine teeth. There were few men the onlookers had ever seen his age that had such fine teeth. He stops before the King, and bows a little farther, struggling to remember what he was told about averting his eyes. The King stares him down, then stands from his throne. “The man is charged,” the bailiff begins...

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Revenge takes a turn into a painting portal

Weekly Contest #348

Revenge takes a turn into a painting portal “Thanks for coming to help, Aaron. This is my mom, Elsa” We left the hospital at the same time. This way I could follow her to the house and still have a getaway car in case things go south. These are some nice digs. And she lives here by herself? Some people have all the luck. “Nice to meet you.” Elsa is an elderly woman with the signs of living a long life on her face. The lines reflect years of sadness and joy. She looks a little shell shocked now sitting quietly in a cha...

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Blindness

Weekly Contest #347

The wine was tastier than any other time. Arwan swallowed a large amount in one go, not giving a shit about how it ran from the corner of his mouth. This fucking world was finally paying him back for all the miseries it had put in his way during his whole life. Now, it was his turn to look down on everyone and everything, even the death itself. Maybe it was the longing that made this moment feel much more satisfying. Whatever it was, he had no plan of wasting it. He won, and that's the only thing he was going to think about at the ...

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Daphne

Shortlisted for Contest #347 ⭐️

They were butterflies, just butterflies. To Daphne, that’s all they were.All those flimsy name tags were quickly snipped off and flicked away. They fluttered through the air to join others on a heap like all the butterflies she used to watch when she was a girl, exhausted and carpeting the banks of the stream behind her house in late summer, only to be swept away by wind and rain. She never read the names. Butterflies didn’t have names. As soon as the next garment landed on her table, a snip and a flick sent another butterfly to land on the ...

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The Rules of Gold

Weekly Contest #347

The sound of a hawk screeched over our heads as if to give a warning to me and Cayden. We rode on horseback and the terrain was unforgiving. The sun beat down with oppression. Steep mountains, jagged dolomite. Red earth, hot like the blood of desire and ambition. The dust from the hooves clouded behind us as we strolled along. “How much farther you suppose we got?” I asked from under my dusty brown hat that barely sheltered me from the heat. I fiddled with the blade on my belt to pass the time. “Just up ahead,” the answer came from between C...

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Chapter 1: The Lunchroom

Weekly Contest #348

Chapter 1: The Lunchroom It was early Monday morning and an announcement from the intercom interrupted my nap. “Good morning students! This school year has been off to a great start so far. Today is Monday September 5th, 1989 and remember homecoming is in a couple of weeks so make sure to get your tickets sooner rather than later!” Principal Rowley said. Paper shuffling could be heard through the mic. “The homecoming committee will be selling tickets during all lunch periods for the next three ...

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Devotion

Weekly Contest #347

It is the day of the ceremony that will finally change my fate.The day I become Queen.The hall is long. Filled with red ribbons and people dressed in white. Their faces coveredas they bow. I was dressed in a pure red gown, matching the red carpet that stretchesthe length of the hall.The dress is wide, trailing far behind me. Its corset tight around my torso, constricted myabdomen enough to steal the very breath out of my lungs. The red veil that covers myface, blurs my vision. I keep my gaze lowered, never making eye contact with Father,allo...

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The Fairbanks Inheritance

Weekly Contest #347

Typed excerpts from the Diary of Audrey Fairbanks - 12 January, 1962Day four of the exhibition for my inheritance is going quite well. Since the ship has set sail for the Amazon, I have been stuck in the hold with little room to even breathe, scraps to eat, and the constant paranoid fear that one of the crew—or worse, Brendon—will find me. My stay has been fair otherwise. Sneaking rations when the cook isn’t looking is incredibly easy, and I was able to keep my biology samples hidden in an out-of-the-way place. Lord knows I’ll need them when...

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How Sir Mordred Did Battle With the Knight of the Glade

Weekly Contest #347

When Mordred set off from Camelot (alone, as was the done thing), he had spared few words regarding the aim of his journey. They would probably expect it was atonement, which was fair enough. Like all knights, he had his share to atone for. He left on a cold morning, saying a brief goodbye to his brother Agravain before riding out of the stalwart walls in the direction of nothing. Quests were always found by chance, far from home and, preferably, when lost. Mordred thought those conditions should be easy enough to accomplish, given what he w...

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One Was Left

Weekly Contest #347

Rural Minnesota, 1915 “Lottie!” My eyes snap open, heavy with exhaustion. It couldn’t be more than an hour since he summoned me last. If only I could sleep during the day as he does. I push the wool blanket aside and sit up, shivering in the cold. “Lottie!” He's been calling me by my mother's name, a woman who's been dead for fifty-four years. “Coming, Papa.” The sofa springs groan as I lean forward and strike a match with stiff, aching fingers, the sulfur sharp in my nostrils. I lift the chimney and touch the flame to the wick. Fwoomph. The...

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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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