Write a story with a character or the narrator saying “I remember…”

Posted in Dramatic on Jan 10, 2025

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✍️ 164 stories

“Snowman” by Annapoorna Paul

Submitted to Contest #285

I remember when we use to sit by the lake, watch the pair of ducks pass by and view the reflection of the sky along with the greenery of the age-old branches brushing against each other, while the cool winter breeze sets in the serene lake as it caused tiny little ripples along with the ducks that swam in them. With having this beautiful natural scenery pleasing our eyes we took a puff of that smoke to our lips and exhaled it into the air which we shared it from that one bud.The flash(backs) is still fresh like it was yesterday as we use to ...

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“Sonny Learns a Lesson” by Luigi Conte

Submitted to Contest #285

Grandpa, when did openly discussing the high cost of bread ($3.25) and cigarettes ($1.25) become unacceptable?"Isn't it terrible, Sonny?""It sure is. Especially since, in your day, it must've been so cheaper for you to buy what you could then in bulk and sell it wholesale now that the prices have risen so high for half the price and still make a profit? No?""But, Sonny, who has the wherewithal to think that far in advance or to have a warehouse that large?"Sonny asked, “Was it you, grandfather? Did you have the wherewithal? If refrigerating ...

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“The Bee's Knees” by H. H. Cain

Submitted to Contest #285

“Excuse me?” Huffed a petite woman who looked to be in her late 50s. Her face was stony, and her lips were in a tight line, “I ordered a cortado, not a cappuccino. Honestly …” She slammed her drink on the counter, spilling it slightly, and folded her arms in annoyance.Wonderful, I thought, as I tried my best to smile politely, “I’m so sorry, ma’am, I must have misheard you. You’re welcome to keep that as a free beverage, and I’ll make you a cortado ASAP.” She turned away from me and stormed off, the cappuccino left bleeding on the coffee bar...

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“A Perfect Morning” by Eric E

Submitted to Contest #285

I remember everything about that day. There are some things I choose not to remember, but some things, like that morning, I will always remember. I remember padding down the stairs, holding the banister (you always told me that the stairs were the most dangerous thing in any house) until I got to the bottom and started to waddle (you remember the pregnant-lady waddle, right?) to the kitchen. I turned on the lights and gave light to a new day. You were sleeping - it was early - and I made coffee. I usually waited until later in the day ...

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“What Happens In The Closet” by Kay B

Submitted to Contest #285

The tulip champagne glass sitting in Darlene Atwell’s hand was filled to the rim with creamy eggnog. The eggnog, sweetened with nutmeg, vanilla, and spiced rum, had been one of the few things that she’d been consuming throughout the night, between salmon crudo and overly frosted Christmas cookies. She lifted the cold glass to her lips and took tiny sips. She figured that the small sips would disguise the truth, which was that this was her third drink of the night and there would be plenty more to come. When she pulled the glass away, s...

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“Paris Éternelle” by Sasha D

Submitted to Contest #285

I remember Paris. Not Paris of Troy, but Paris, the city of love—the city we all love, even when her mood turns grim on winter days.Paris has seen and been the stage of much change; I’ve always been there to witness it all. I’m not sure who I am, but I know who she is. I know her every street and corner, from the vast and damp catacombs to the most minute inscriptions on the cross perched at the top of the Sacré-Coeur, her most passionate lovers and her greatest enemies; sometimes, it’s hard to discern where I end from where she begins.My fi...

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“Dominoes and Biscuits” by Paulette Zander

Submitted to Contest #285

(Trigger warning: content reflects religious cynicism) Dominoes and Biscuits I remember one of the worst days of my life. It involved a now defunct car model, the Studebaker, and Ritz crackers. When I was eight, my cousin, Patty Jo, married a jerk named Gary. Due to their financial situation (nonexistent), my parents agreed to throw them a reception even though we had just moved from Indiana (arriving in our new, spiffy Studebaker). We still didn’t have curtains on all the windows and there my mom was spending money on cream cheese a...

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“The Carrot Skirt” by E.M. O'Hair

Submitted to Contest #285

I sat with my purple clipboard on my lap, my computer open to Optima—the system used for keeping electronic records—on the bedside table next to me. Mary lay in bed, across from where I sat, with the head of her hospital bed reclined to forty-five degrees.She had broken her hip three weeks ago and was healing slowly. Her pain was unmanageable, making it nearly impossible for her to participate in physical or occupational therapy.Mary liked me, though. When I first introduced myself, she rolled her eyes and cursed, but then I told her, “The b...

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“Beneath the Surface” by Emma Russell

Submitted to Contest #285

The sun hung low in the sky, shooting gleaming golden rays through gaps in the city’s array of skyscrapers. The evening air was alive with flies and mosquitoes, drawn to the humidity that hung like thick clouds over my head. The horizon was dark, on the brink of night, but pink clouds were strewn around the aurous glow of the sun. A man perched on the opposite edge of the bus stop seat coughed, and I flinched. Nicotine stains tainted his fingers and a trail of smoke expelled from his nostrils, a cigarette jammed between his lips. I shivered,...

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“The Geriatric Counsel” by Priyanjali Bhattacharyya

Submitted to Contest #285

The summer wind was cool. Mrs. Ray's arthritis was acting up. The first 30 minutes after getting up in the morning was brutal. Thereafter, walking along with everyone else made things a little better for her knees.She would cloister with the other older people in the monastery just after waking up, groaning as she went. Saayaa would be a patient listener to her problems, problems of the same nature everyday. Mrs. Ray had become a widow recently. Mr. Ray had been a part of the Geriatric Counsel of the town. Nothing in the village happened wit...

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“Invisible Ink” by Julian Swartz

Submitted to Contest #285

[CONTENT WARNING: severe brain injury, aphasia, and implied death.]:There was a kind of beauty in drawing, I had always thought, because a picture didn’t have to say anything.My eyes watched as a piece of black charcoal slowly swiped across the parchment. In its wake was a think line of flaking carbon, of which decorated the face of the square parchment sitting at my fingertips. Rich marks intersected one another, drawing the eye in a circular pattern from left to right, like a timeline. Road signs for a wanderer’s mind.Almost like a sentenc...

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“1970's Were the Zenith of Drum Corps” by Veronica Dowd

Submitted to Contest #285

I remember being fourteen in nineteen-seventy-four. I played clarinet in the Seattle all City Marching band. It was during a local parade that summer when I got my first look at a Drum and Bugle corps. Marching Bands and Drum Corps, as they're called for short, differ in ways. Firstly, most Marching Bands are associated with high schools or colleges whereas Drum Corps are freestanding organizations. Marching Bands have a woodwind section and Drum Corps are all bugles, drums, and a full Color Guard. A brief history of the Drum and Bugle Co...

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“FIRE” by Andrew Winfield

Submitted to Contest #285

FIREThe air was acrid with the heavy, dank smell of smoke. The still-smouldering brush, undergrowth, and scorched ground trailed wisps of smoke into the air. Several firefighters were still trying to dampen down the embers.Twenty-four hours earlier, my older brother, Daley, and I had walked our dog across the cliffs towards the beach. We had a backpack to collect Corona pop bottles we might find, which we would take to the shop for a three-pence refund on each return. At the head of the cliffs, we saw the first signs of...

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“Through the Memory Veil” by Krystian Maj

Submitted to Contest #285

Forest. Cobble road. Passive, quiet trees. Cold, skin cutting air. Warm breath escaping your lungs.Dancing wind running between trees.Darkness Forest.Cobble road.Passive, quiet trees.Cold, skin cutting air.Warm breath escaping your lungs.Dancing wind running between treesMajestic mountains proudly standing over the horizon.Their grey skin being so harsh to live but being chosen by so many species.They stay in contrast to the forever going green all around them, surrounding them from every side.Silent whispers of the wind carry tales of forgo...

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“A Saturday Exploit” by Sandra Moody

Submitted to Contest #285

A Saturday Exploit I remember Saturday afternoons. They dangled like a carrot at the end of the school week—golden. Dad would be at work. Mom would be occupied with the littles. Saturday meant freedom.I had seven siblings, and I was blessed to be number five. The middle ones get the least attention which was the way we liked it. Me and my brother, the brother one up from me and number four, we were best friends. He had fun friends, too.The two of us, plus his friends, always meant adventure. Like the time we rode the swollen stream on a raft...

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Write a story with a character or the narrator saying “I remember…”

Submissions are closed

✍️ 164 stories

“Snowman” by Annapoorna Paul

“Sonny Learns a Lesson” by Luigi Conte

“The Bee's Knees” by H. H. Cain

“A Perfect Morning” by Eric E

“What Happens In The Closet” by Kay B

“Paris Éternelle” by Sasha D

“Dominoes and Biscuits” by Paulette Zander

“The Carrot Skirt” by E.M. O'Hair

“Beneath the Surface” by Emma Russell

“The Geriatric Counsel” by Priyanjali Bhattacharyya

“Invisible Ink” by Julian Swartz

“1970's Were the Zenith of Drum Corps” by Veronica Dowd

“FIRE” by Andrew Winfield

“Through the Memory Veil” by Krystian Maj

“A Saturday Exploit” by Sandra Moody

🌟 Similar prompts

Write a story in the form of a landline phone conversation.

Write a story from the POV of a now-defunct piece of technology.

Write a story in which someone time-travels 25 years or more into the past.

Write a story about people preparing for Y2K.

Contest #285

Enter our weekly contest!

$250

Prize money

430

Contest entries

147

Stories

Win $250 in our short story competition 🏆

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