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A weekly short story contest
Looking for a steady supply of christian 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!
They didn’t know they were being watched as they floated above the community of Bear River. They idly let the wind carry them as they observed the inhabitants below. Their duty had been a quiet and peaceful one for the most part. They didn’t worry about the Evil One, he usually only sent his demons to the larger more populated cities, where they could cause the most chaos. But Bear River was a small town; with a population of only around 10,000. Though small it had a very diverse populace. The people ha...
It was...scary. Or no...angering? Maybe even…sadness. It was overwhelming? Like a whirlwind. All of it happening so fast. Never time given to process. It just sort of…happened. Everything was fine, and then…not. Like precariously balancing on a tightrope until you tip off and slowly fall. Fall down and down. It was numbing. It was painful. It was terror like the night. It was painstaking. It felt like forever. Slow, confusing, and forever. It was a burning in your chest and eyes when you try to hold back the tears...
“We can’t stay like this forever.” Ada blinked, jolted from her reverie. She gazed up into the man’s kind blue eyes as a small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. The wind ruffled his chocolate-colored hair as he held the door of the tailor’s shop open for Ada to step through. Her cheeks grew warm and her heart skipped a beat. Unaware of how long she’d kept him there, Ada smiled sheepishly as her cheeks grew warm. “I… suppose you’re right. Thank you.” She slipped through the doorway and ducked behind a shelf, watchi...
The stars up above are unchanging. Reliable. Beautiful. Unsympathetic. Cassia watches them, not daring to move. Hardly daring to breathe. Wishing she could force her heart to stop pumping. Anything is too loud. She closes her eyes. The starlight will glint off them and make her more visible. Life is more valuable than sight. Hearing is still accessible. Grasses rustle somewhere to her left. Where her mother is. There is a gasp. A scuffle. A man’s voice. A man who is not her father. Her father ...
I close my laptop, shove it onto the bed beside me, and massage my forehead.“What’s the matter?”I look up to see my little sister coming into my room. She looks concerned and I try not to take my annoyance out on her. “My laptop isn’t working.”“Oh. I can go ask Mom if you can use hers.”“Thanks, but I need my stories from my laptop.”“Aren’t they on your phone too?”“They are supposed to be, but it’s not working either. It’s so weird. ...
The Weatherman had got it wrong again. Rain turned to snow and back again as Carl drove his rusty car, he didn't know what kind it was, home from work. "There goes the barbecue." He thought. Carl yanked the wheel of the car to the right as a grey car with its headlights off zoomed past him down the road. He muttered under his breath and turned to look over his shoulder at an old lady who was just then swerving back into her own lane. The car was already invisible, masked by the wet drops of snow that were be...
Wednesday, January 1st, 19978:10 AM - I secretly bought this journal at the local bookstore for $6.95. It is a secret because I want this to be mine and just mine. Grandma gave me some Christmas money and I was so glad that way I could buy a journal. I bought it so I can record my first teenage year. Yes, today is my 13th birthday and the start of a new year. My goal is to write every day so I can someday look back on what I did during my first year as a teena...
I look at my hair in the mirror. Fiddle with the short, layered ruin. A few hours ago, it was ear-length, straight, and glossy, just how I liked it, just how I told the perky blonde pimpernel behind the scissors and a pair of gigantic diamond earrings that I wanted to keep it.“But every girl with your face and complexion wants this haircut,” the African-American version of Dolly Parton piped as she locked a papery black sheet around my neck, “and they all look absolutely gorgeous, too!”I told her thanks but no, thanks. Just ...
War. When it first started, all I heard was Beethoven’s 5th. Urgency. Terror. Climax after climax.But then it sunk in. It stayed and festered as families separated to march on alone. We were cursed to keep moving on while the air was saturated with Adagio for Strings. I watched my father leave in his uniform, his old gun clutched tightly in his calloused hands. My mother kept the house in the country, opening it for people to send their children to when the bombs came. I had a little sister and brother who stayed ...
Who am I? Who am I when no one is watching? Who am I, really? The question was always there, but this was the only place she would let herself think it. She was deep between a set of bookshelves filled with unread knowledge, under a high ceiling that allowed the imagination to soar, lit by impossibly tall windows and huge chandeliers. She loved it here. Books could make it feel like someone understood. She picked out an unabridged version of the classic Little Wom...
I love the sound of fresh snow crunching under my feet. The way the cold smells, the way the wind bites my face, the way Rosie (my dog) smiles at me… what is there to not love about taking winter walks? Every time I go, I wonder why I don’t go more often. My foot catches on a disguised root, and I land awkwardly, smashing face first into the wet white stuff. Spitting out snow from my mouth, I scramble back up to my feet. Continuing on! Braving the elements with my val...
“Great job with the play, Keri! You planning on doing one next year too?” I laughed, packing a garbage bag with dropped costumes, broken props, and my narrator’s script, then climbed down the stage steps. “I don’t know, Susan. These kids…” I mimed pulling my hair out of my head. Susan smiled with all her “pastor’s wife” grace. “I thought you did very well.” “Thanks. Where are you going for the countdown tonight?” “We’re ...
It was a frosty night when two weary soldiers stopped in the middle of a narrow, rutted lane leading deep into the Pennsylvania woods. The night was still, the bitter wind having died down and the tree branches frozen into stillness by the ice that hung from their limbs. Just beyond a little wicket gate stood a small brown house nestled in the rural county. Past thinly-curtained windows glowed the golden home light that both instantly moved towards without a word to one another. It had been a hard year; no words were necessary to ...
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