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A weekly short story contest
Looking for a steady supply of african american short stories? Every week thousands of writers submit stories to our writing contest.
Coming of Age
People of Color
Teens & Young Adult
We'll send you 5 prompts each week. Respond with your short story and you could win $250!
August 15th, Wednesday9:45 PM1923You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Your mind flashes back to Bakari, as the burly white men drag him down the dark road. Tears slide down your pale cheeks, remembering how he cried out your name in his husky voice. *****“Are you sure nobody will see us here?” You asked Bakari after you had walked up to him. He didn’t respond. For days, both of you had met up in the same place: a graveyard. The stones on the graves looked l...
The sweet smell of morning dew rushes into my lungs as I gather a deep breath of the cool air surrounding me. Conner’s friends live here, I think to myself. Conner lives here. As I perch on the top step of his front porch, my legs ache from pumping on the pedals of my bike, the sounds of his mother’s cooking filling my head. Behind me, the screen door creaks open, and Conner joins me on the porch. He d...
I climb up the ladder nailed to the old tree in my parents’ backyard. The nails hang out of the wood and I give them a worried glance, wondering if they will give way or hold my weight. I’ve put on quite a few pounds since I was last here. The golden treehouse - that we built as a family years ago - towers over me, blocking the sun from stinging my eyes. As I scale the few rungs that it takes to reach the top, the memories of bounding up this same ladder as a 7-year-old girl with pigtails and striped bows flash before me. It brings a smil...
The crowd's cheer was deafening.
So was Zanaya's heartbeat.
She really couldn't help it.
Her curly chocolate hair was neatly placed as a bun on top of her head. Her purple dress was gripped by her trembling ebony hands. Her feet shaking inside her silver sandals. Her palms sweating more than it should.
Was she nervous?
Another cheer erupted f...
September 1st, 2048It’s raining. I can see the droplets from my cell window, watch them fall from the sky. Whenever it rains, I press my hand to the window, believing that if I push hard enough, the glass will break, and I’ll be free. It never happens. But it’s at least comforting to know that someone is crying with me.It’s been so long since I’ve felt the drip of rain on my skin. Since the chilly wisps of wind have stroked my face. Since the scent of warm cheese pizza has tickled my nostrils.&...
“Hey, can I see your world? Mine is a bit… hard to look at right now.” After years of studying civilization and creating new universes, it baffles me how we’ve gotten nowhere. I doubt my research looks any different than my coworker’s, but I allow him to have a look anyways. “Eek. That’s what’s been happening in mine. I don’t get it. No matter what we do, how many challenges and gifts we give to our experiments, they always end like this. Why?” I peer through my glass screen again, watching the small people in New Wor...
I was once part of the norm. Part of the people that just go with how the wind blows. I don’t really care about the current affairs in my community.All I care about is myself.In the past, when I was still in my university days, there was a time that we were assigned to gather information about the slums in Detroit. While doing my study, I began noticing how wretched other people are. I realized that I am part of a messed up society. I realized how oth...
Hundreds, thousands, millions more. Billions upon billions of lights line the shore. All so far, but to reach out and touch just one, maybe two? Impossible! Inconceivable! That’s what they say. But I know I will reach the moon and count them all someday. Someday. “Will you come in here already? It’s freezing out, and you’re not wearing a jacket.” A father’s voice rang heavy and low to his sweet little daughter. She put her pencil down and looked back up at the sky, counting...
The barbershop is no place for a woman. Especially a woman with as many curves as Seliece Thornton. Many reverse mohawks were birthed in the wake of her savage strut. The moment she walked onto the floor haircuts were known to be ruined by an impulsive turn of the head. The hypnotic way she swayed her hips was an incantation to all who dared to look. Per the Unwritten Bylaws of N...
My name is Richard Morrison and I was born on Sunday, August 5, 1934 to my proud parents Arnold and Martha Morrison in Paterson, New Jersey. Being my parents’ only child afforded me many opportunities to learn different things in life. Since I enjoyed working with my hands, I took to making different things out of wood and working on cars. I would tinker with just about anything I could find. In fact, that is how I met Emma.While I was attending East Side High, I took up shop class because it allowed me to continue to work on woods...
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