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

150+ American Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. Looking for great American short stories you can read for free? Whether they’re written by American authors, set in the USA, or just have that ever-elusive quality of Americana, this is the page you’re looking for.

American Short Stories – Page 5 of 10

Prayer of the Mantis

Submitted to Contest #320

Trigger Warning- Mild Sexual, Drug, and Mature Content lies ahead, and, oh yes! Nudity.Prayer of the MantisGenesis 2:8-9 KNJV-8The LORD God planted a garden eastward in Eden, and there He put the man whom He had formed.9And out of the ground the LORD God made every tree grow that is pleasant to the sight and good for food.”And, man! The drugs provided were pretty damn good!Part One- He.Adam did not like being alone. It was tough. Eden was overgrown, and there was no help in sight. Overwhelmed, Adam named some of God’s creatures. He saw the t...

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Danger in the Woods

Submitted to Contest #320

Kacie walked between the pine trees, sunlight trickling through the needles. A bit of smoke tinged the air, a remnant of the Canadian forests that burn each year. Each step she took she felt her heart lighten. Nature brought her to center. Something she definitely needed, more than ever. She spoke to her mother that morning, as she washed their breakfast dishes by hand. Her mother always played Fox News in the morning, something that Kacie tuned out. She never cared for those talking heads, and her professors told her they were horrible peop...

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Into the Words

Submitted to Contest #320

As my closest friends and I went running from the party back home, we dropped our dancing shoes and backstories, took a wrong turn, and somehow ended up down an alley that was not rectangular, flat, and familiar, but rather… Wild. Winding and congested, covered with rambling vines and technicolor brush; every address and word drawn out in a language we couldn’t make sense of. Sans serifs, sans street numbers. Was more of a forest — no, a jungled scene — than a city street. Was confusing, okay. “What the hell? What is this place? Where are we...

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The Escape

Submitted to Contest #320

My bright lavender eyes pulsed an iridescent purple as I sang a soft melody. The man before me, my parents’ biggest client, suddenly looked completely lost and oblivious. A wide smile spread across his dirty face, and he swayed on his feet to my rhythm. I just barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes as I backed away, stopping my song mid-note. It was always like this. My parents were always trying to improve their social standing in Mary’s Rest by showcasing my mutant talent to their peers. “Don’t go, Pretty Pretty,” he slurred, grinning ...

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Bad Trip

Submitted to Contest #320

“You want to try one?” Rain pitter pattered on the tent’s nylon roof as Richie eyed the offering in Lily’s outstretched hand. It looked much like a Teriyaki mushroom crossed with the thin white mushrooms he had seen in an Asian hotpot – seen, but not tasted. Or touched. Richie hated mushrooms without prejudice. Their sickly white complexion and their slimy skin revolted him. The idea that people consumed and enjoyed mushrooms on a regular basis baffled Richie. The thought of a mushroom’s slick skin sliding along his tongue made him want to v...

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The Last Canoe

Submitted to Contest #320

The Russian River flows through the heart of Sonoma County in California It is also home to one of the last surviving Sequoia Redwood forests in the country. Rio Nido is a two miles east of Guerneville where diversity and individuality are celebrated. Six miles east of Rio Nido is a canoe rental place that does a vigorous business during the summer when the tourist mob the place to explore the scenic wonders of the redwoods. I saw her waving in my rearview mirror as I pulled out of her apartment driveway. Five years ago, I came home to mar...

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The Promise

Submitted to Contest #320

Distance and time—that’s how adults measure journeys. But because we were just boys, distance didn’t matter and time didn’t exist. Now, as I retraced the familiar path of my youth—the path that led to our tree—I realized that the distance hadn’t changed, but the journey that used to take 30 minutes had taken me twelve years. The turn off to the trail was still hidden. I was glad about that, it's what made our place secret. There were also short stretches where the route had been covered by overgrowth and the canopy of trees that surrounded m...

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Jolly Gardens

Submitted to Contest #319

The community garden was named ‘Jolly Gardens’ for a long-passed fire chief named John Pfluger I am told. When asked if ‘Jolly’ was some kind of nickname or a particular expression of his, none of us knew. The sign at the garden’s entrance doesn’t say.“Now those are the gooseberry?” Mrs. Shannon asked something she already knew.“Yes,” I’d said, squinting up into the sun and handing one over. “A little like the tomatillo you liked.”“A good fall one?”“Yes,” I said. “Nice for jams.”She was repeating what I’d told her a week before, so I’d just ...

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Mira, Mira, Off the Wall

Submitted to Contest #319

I hate mirrors.Let me correct that. They’re a necessary evil.I mean, they do let me know if there’s a curl of kale stuck between two teeth. Or if my acne’s flaring up. Again. Though I can feel that. But I don’t need a mirror to tell me I’m bloated at that time of the month. By the way, periods rank a close second to mirrors in the necessary evil department. I’m not planning to have kids for years, if at all. So why do I have to bleed now? But at least that’s only once a month. Mirrors are constant. And compelling. How can you pass one and no...

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A Ringing in Her Ears

Submitted to Contest #319

The school bus barreled down the desert road, a glowing spectacle of reflected sunlight on its way to the Grand Canyon. Mrs. Maloney gazed upon the infinite swaths of blurred sepia as they passed by. This is all my doing, she thought. All of it. A month ago, a siege had begun on her consciousness that felt akin to an awakening, a constant barrage of prayers from the world’s believers, all packaged differently – questions, statements, pleas in every language – but all understood by her and all circling around a shared point of pain. A month...

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THE PROTECTOR

Submitted to Contest #319

THE PROTECTORby Diane L. Goodman I am small but powerful. I am just 5.8 inches long and 1 inch wide. I weigh just 17 ounces. But inserting a 10-round magazine boosts my weight to a hefty 24 ounces. I’m handsome, too. Sleek silver stainless steel slide. Shiny black barrel. Stippled grip. Day/night sights. I am a Sig Sauer P365 semi-automatic pistol. I lie on a glass shelf in a large glass case. I am the middle one in a row of seven, a Sig P226 on my left and a Browning 1911-22 A1 on my right. There is a card in front of each of us, stating o...

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A Witch Hunter’s Guide: The Wraith of the Woods

Submitted to Contest #319

Let it be known, I write this story in defiance of the Norfolk council. For they would see the events of October 1659 hidden away, forgotten. But I cannot and will not live among the ignorance. Let this story serve to teach. Serve to teach all new settlers of America to be wary of witch folk.***My name is Abigail Thorne. At the time of the events in this story, I was 16 years old. You also must know, that roughly two months prior to the events of October 1659, an unknown force began threatening the townsfolk. People began finding strange run...

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America’s Violence Problem Is Not an Accident

Submitted to Contest #319

CW: Contains references to violence, hate crimes, racism Violence in America has reached a breaking point. And let’s be clear: it’s not over. Not even close. It will not be over as long as hate groups march proudly in our streets. It will not be over as long as white supremacists and Proud Boys wave their flags without shame, and as long as right-wing media giants shovel lies into millions of homes every night.It will not be over as long as Donald Trump and his loyalists cling to power with propaganda. It will not be over as long as Russia...

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The Spice of Death

Submitted to Contest #319

The Spice of Death I rushed into Minneapolis General SICU and almost bumped into Felicia Gainer. The gray-haired nurse stared down at me out of cold blue eyes. I forced a smile. “Well, if it ain’t our perky little Georgia peach, Lucy Connors,” she said. “What’s it been? Ten months? Thought you’d gone back to Atlanta after having the baby.” “Wasn’t in the cards.” “Because you’re broke, I’ll bet. Is it true your husband moved in with his tennis partner?” I sucked in a breath. Even for her, this was low. His attractive ebony face alight, the ...

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A monster, misunderstood.

Submitted to Contest #319

The Misunderstood Monster"The capacity for destruction among the human race is teetering on admirable," said Bigfoot. A name they find particularly offensive, as among these magnificent creatures they are so much more than a foot, large or otherwise.The words hung in the mountain air like smoke from a dying fire, acrid and impossible to ignore. Jarrod Manning felt his throat constrict—thirty-five years of searching, and this was what he'd found. Not vindication, but indictment.Beside him, Jamelia shifted on the rough-hewn log that served as ...

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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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