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Discover weekly, the best short stories

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

150+ Sad Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. Do you ever need to break your own heart? We see you. Grab a tub of ice cream or a box of tissues and settle down with some of the best, really sad short stories to make you cry.

Sad Short Stories – Page 4 of 10

What She Can Reach

Submitted to Contest #339

She learned early that the safest homes were the ones that looked ordinary.Not clean in a way that asked to be admired, not messy in a way that invited worry. Just ordinary. A pair of shoes by the door, a dish in the sink, the fan turning on low like someone had left it running without thinking. Ordinary meant no one stopped to listen.Rima kept the apartment ordinary.She did it the way her mother had shown her, in small pieces picked up over time. Things said while the kettle heated. Rules spoken lightly, as if they weren’t meant to be frigh...

7 likes 2 comments 2
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Planet Solitude

Submitted to Contest #339

I’m hurtling through the atmosphere in a capsule barely larger than a washing machine. My gut feels like it’s been blasted with a cannonball, and no one’s cared to remove it. My ears are useless. Not for lack of sound, more like all sounds have been forced into my ear canal and held there by some invisible power. It’s enough to make a guy puke – if he wasn’t trained for this sort of thing.There’s not much to do but hang on and wait it out; the trajectory is set and controlled by the computer. So, I press my hands against the capsule walls, p...

4 likes 2 comments 2
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The last cup

Submitted to Contest #339

The winter sun is casting its last rays over the freshly snow-covered ground. He watches the rays until they fade, then turns back from the window as the aroma from the kitchen pulls him from his memories. The old phone on the wall rings. He looks at it and smiles. Only a few people call that number, and he never misses the chance to talk with them if possible. “Hello,” he answers, warmth in his voice. “I’m so glad you all came today,” he says, settling slowly into the well-worn rocking chair. “It was wonderful having everyone here. I’m tir...

8 likes 2 comments 2
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One Cup At A Time

Submitted to Contest #339

*TW: Contains brief language and references to addiction I’ve never liked the taste of coffee. Too bitter. But this morning, I needed something with a little more bite than tea. Something to carry me over the finish line of a day I’ve dreaded for the last eleven years: going through Mom’s belongings.As the scorched taste of Louisiana chicory slid down the back of my throat, I couldn’t help but smile and think of her. Coffee was always her thing, and the stronger the better. It was usually Colombian roast accompanied by a splash of milk, a pa...

5 likes 2 comments 2
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The Medium Setting

Submitted to Contest #339

Content Warning: The story contains a slur and bigoted views in the context of a character's recollection of the past. “Nancy!” He pushed the working button on the kettle; the other was worn through and busted. The red electric light glowed to life. Medium setting was fine enough. There was a low; didn’t do anything except think about heating water. That untouched button didn’t count. Be better if the hot button worked. Maybe a new kettle, but this– The beep startled him. Damn fast, worked like new. Ha! The carafe tipped, gurgled hot water i...

2 likes 0 comments 0
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Memories of Cinnamon

Submitted to Contest #339

This kitchen is perfectly, sterilely decorated and organized. Blobs of abstract paintings fill the walls; the dishes have their own cupboards and drawers; and the counters shine despite the crumbs from food and the droplets from drinks. The low murmur of talking, crying, and laughing gets drowned by the bubbling of my coffee being brewed. Pouring probably too many French vanilla creamers into my dark roast, my dad always tells me–I mean, he used to tell me that my grandma did the same thing. She’s resting in a glossy, wooden casket just a fe...

4 likes 1 comment 1
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Even The Curlews Cried.

Submitted to Contest #339

I had no idea of the emotional storm brewing, just the feeling of impending doom and then it happened. I'd woken up that morning feeling strange, not right. What unfolded that day will forever ricochet inside me, just a scratch under the surface. I inherited Jake when my nineteen-year-old daughter died. It was a miracle that he had not been in the car with her that day, normally she took him everywhere. He knew she wasn’t coming back; he knew that we had lost her. Dogs grieve too. In the aftermath, we struggled through some very dark days to...

4 likes 0 comments 0
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MudPuddle

Submitted to Contest #339

Freya was the only one who showed up to work that day, but she wasn’t surprised. There had been flash flood warnings all week from the continuous rainfall and her coworkers were quick to take any excuse for a day off. The little bell on the cafe door jingled as someone entered and she didn’t even look up from decorating a small macaron as she greeted them. “Welcome to the MudPuddle, where the coffee is fresh and the- oh…” she paused as she looked up. “It’s you.” Freya’s smile turned sour as she watched Nick approach the counter to order. H...

11 likes 6 comments 6
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Mishka, the Twenty-Year-Old Maltese Mix, and the Blessing of the Animals

Submitted to Contest #339

Mishka tinkles without noticing. A warm spot spreads through the fabric of my sleeve, and I adjust my hold, turning slightly away from the people behind me. Mishka is a Maltese mix, over twenty years old, more than a hundred in human years, and so light I sometimes forget she’s there until I look down. She fits into the crook of my arm without effort. “It’s okay, Mishka-girl,” I say into her ear. She lets out a small yawn and a quiet bark afterward, more breath than sound, like a whisper she wasn’t sure she meant to make. Her fur is thin and...

24 likes 11 comments 11
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Thirty-Seven Years Told In Six Mornings

Submitted to Contest #339

The cafe had the particular scent of a college town in late autumn: burnt espresso and ambition. Harold stood at the counter, twenty-two years old and regretting his decision to order for both of them.“And for the lady?” The barista waited, pen hovering.Miriam was already seated at a corner table, watching him. He’d met her three weeks ago in a philosophy seminar where she’d dismantled Descartes with the casual efficiency of someone swatting a fly. He’d been in love ever since, though he hadn’t told anyone, least of all her.“She’ll have... u...

30 likes 32 comments 32
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I'll do it tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll do it.

Submitted to Contest #339

SaturdayEvery Saturday me and my buddy Mikey always go for a walk together in the park as long as it doesn't rain. It started a few years back with us both happening to walk our dogs at the same time in the same park each week. Eventually we started talking to each other on our walks. Neither of our dogs remain, but we still take our walk together every week anyways. Over time, these walks have started meaning more and more to me. When my dog Henceford passed away, I figured that would be the end of the silly walking ritual Mikey and I had. ...

5 likes 0 comments 0
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Gordian Heart

Submitted to Contest #339

Life was an awakening. He knew that now. And once he was awake, there was no return to blissful ignorance. The glass bridge to the fantasy he’d dwelt in had shattered along with his heart. He wished he could take it back, but there was only the now and the forward movement in the river of life. The past month had been experienced in a daze. Somehow he retained the pretence of what once was. Seeing everything anew was dizzying. His insides thrummed and shook. He’d gaze upon his hand and wonder at how the maelstrom within him wasn’t visible t...

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Good Things Come

Submitted to Contest #339

Good things come to those who wait. She flicked the light on and trudged toward the tea kettle. The worn and scratched kettle echoed with the sounds of running water as she filled it from the tap, also worn and scratched. Time takes its toll on things as well as people. The room looked old. It looked sad in the dingy light from the center of the kitchen ceiling. The wallpaper, faded and slightly bubbled, had begun to peel around the edges.She placed the full kettle on the stovetop and turned the burner on. The new stove looked out of place i...

2 likes 1 comment 1
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Radicchio

Submitted to Contest #339

I didn’t have anything to do, but watch the snake. We were not supposed to go out, but there was over a foot of snow on the ground. No one was going anywhere. The man pushing the snow blower outside my window had a mask on. I yelled something to Steve about wearing a mask outside, and he yelled back that it’s better to be safe than sorry. Steve would die of an embolism at the age of seventy-four. By then, I’ll have already been gone for two years. My death will be peaceful. It will happen on a Friday night. How exciting. Today is a Sunday. W...

16 likes 6 comments 6
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I Lost An Angel

Submitted to Contest #339

Trigger warning: Car accident, loss, family trauma. There was a cup of coffee sitting on the counter. I had made it while the sky inched from black to blue. The coffee machine gurgled, followed by the trickle of liquid dripping into the mug. Hershey’s chocolate creamer, a little bit of milk, a lot of sugar. The perfect cup.The plan was to hang out with my mother that day, so I checked her location and was surprised to see her downtown. Zooming in on the map revealed my mother at the county jail. With her license suspended, it was highly like...

2 likes 1 comment 1
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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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