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Discover weekly, the best short stories

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

5390+ Creative nonfiction Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. The creative nonfiction stories on this page deliver exactly what it says on the tin: true stories told in weird and wonderful ways.

Creative nonfiction Short Stories – Page 24 of 360

Serial Killer Therapy Group: Meeting One

Submitted to Contest #285

*T/W, Mentions of Killing and Mental Health*“She sat by him, and they gazed into the sunset. He held a can of something he wouldn’t drink, and she placed a cigarette she would never light in her mouth. The radio blasted music, the oceans waves slamming down rhythmically, and everything was perfect.The world seemed to pause for a moment, to take in the wonderful second.A memory never replaced or forgotten.Something book worthy.Love.Taking his hand, they left behind the props and danced in the sand, the rays highlighting them as the waves skim...

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Slobbering Oatmeal into Her Sweater

Submitted to Contest #285

Our virtue or excellence does not drive our actions but by the act itself. "We are what we do," ~Aristotle. Saliva mixed with cooked oats and brown sugar dripped in small streams from the wrinkled corner of her mouth onto her hunter-green cable-knit sweater. The kitchen emitted the aroma of cooked oats. Still, the scent of brown sugar dominated the ambiance, making it more attractive, reminiscent of when my parents lived here many years ago. The creek on the floor next to the archway notified me of Dad's approach, and Ada and I separated the...

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The Dream that was Once a Reality

Submitted to Contest #285

The Dream that was Once a Reality     I remember when it was a chilly and cloudy day in early December, and it looked like we weren’t going anywhere for a while. As the heavy pounds of snow swiftly surrounded the front of our house, it created a protective barrier around our red brick walls from the rest of the world. Since I couldn’t go anywhere, I sat comfortably thinking to myself by my frosted windows, looking like I was someplace other than this. Now, I wish I was. “Scarlett!” My mom called me down for dinner an...

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THE MACHINE THAT REMEMBERED

Submitted to Contest #285

The flickering neon sign outside cast a sickly green glow on the dusty windowpane. Inside, I lay dormant, a relic of a bygone era. My circuits, once a symphony of electrical pulses, were now a graveyard of rusted connections and brittle wires. They called me "The Oracle," a grandiose name for a machine that once predicted the weather with uncanny accuracy. I remember the bustling days. Scientists, their faces a mixture of awe and apprehension, would gather around me. They would feed me data – barometric pressure, wind speed, humidity – a tor...

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Phone Call

Submitted to Contest #285

"Hi Jody, how's the family? I heard your mom picked up a bug." "We are doing well Margret. Yes, she does not know where. How are you and your family?" "Doing well, thank you. Who do I connect you with today?" "Bonnie James please." "Sure. You are in that spelling bee, right?" "Yes." "Well, good luck." "Whoops, line is busy. Give it ten minutes or so and try back." "Ok, bye." Ten minutes later. "Hi Margret, Bonnie please." "Ten minutes already? Ok. Good, the line is clear." "Thank you." "Hello?" "Hello...

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The Times of Remembering, The Times of Forgetting

Submitted to Contest #285

  THE TIMES OF REMEMBERING, THE TIMES OF FORGETTING Memories like islands now in the silted waters of his mind. He remembers the times of remembering. The child who could not but remember when there was so much to learn. The sight of the green leaves of summer on a perfect smudgeless blue sky. The sound of grinding metal from the goods railway at the bottom of the road. The smell of soapy sticky tar new pasted on the road. Then the teenager sitting in smoky Kardomah basements forcing a coffee to last two hours. And the young adult ...

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The Silent Sentinel

Submitted to Contest #285

I remember the first time I killed a man. It wouldn’t be the last. The jungle had not yet surrendered to the approaching morning light. Even an hour before sunrise, the darkness clung to the dense canopy surrounding the village of Phước Vĩnh, casting deep shadows that seemed to merge with the trees. The air was thick with humidity, and each breath was a slow, deliberate act. A low-hanging ground fog accompanied the residual heat of the night. The weight of the night’s silence pressed down on me. My senses were finely tuned, and the stillne...

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Not Quite The Grapes of Wrath!

Submitted to Contest #285

(Semi-autobiographical with some liberties taken to fill in blanks and name changes)    I remember my dad telling me his stories of moving to California during the 1930's seeking the American dream. He told me these stories after we watched the 1940 movie "The Grapes of Wrath." Since my dad is gone now, I am trying to relate what he told me.   John Steinbeck's character, Tom Joad, while somewhat like my dad, was a much more tragic figure. The great novel "The Grapes of Wrath" always touched my heart, because of ...

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Snowballs, Clown Cakes, And Boots With Buckles

Submitted to Contest #285

Snowballs, Clown Cakes, And Boots With Buckles“I hope we never lose some of the things of the past.”                                                                          &nb...

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two cans and a string!

Submitted to Contest #285

The house was unusually quiet that afternoon. That was a rare occurrence given fourteen people lived here, including two parents and twelve children.  It was a brutally cold Saturday afternoon in mid-January. As was the case every Saturday, we younger siblings loved to go outside and play, building forts and snowmen, snow dogs occasionally. Sometimes, we'd pretend we were lost in a desert and would crawl around, entertaining ourselves with pretend mirages. We had very little to do inside the house. When we ...

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I REMEMBER...

Submitted to Contest #285

I REMEMBER….. Sitting at the kitchen table our long sullen faces staring at the bowl of oatmeal. My older brother and sister and I were not talking, we just stared at the bowl. Oatmeal that was not as I know it now, full of enriched grain , dried fruits, honey and almond milk. No this was just plain lumpy oatmeal. Mom felt as long as it was hot that was all that mattered on a cold morning in western New york.We had a snowstorm last night and for sure we would be walking to school in a couple of feet of snow. School was about a half mile from...

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the hour upon the stage

Submitted to Contest #285

“What do you mean you threw it all away?!” I should’ve known this would happen, the flashing of rectangular cuts one after another on Instagram reels, TikTok, YouTube shorts, multi-camera-roll, like goggles clipped onto your nose as you watched the world live its life by seconds and minutes and snapshots of celebrities and Vogue magazines and whispers of that style on the runway that blew into a holler, a crashing storm. A wave turned roaring and unstoppable, the flood of vintage wear reimagined into all the mainstream clothing brands – you ...

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A Saturday Exploit

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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Blockbuster Night

Submitted to Contest #285

Blockbuster Night.By Ed Coulstring I am the greatest wedding gift of all time.  When newlyweds Larry And Lisa opened me they nearly burst with excitement.  I Was the newest model with all the bells and whistles, the hottest thing in entertainment for 1992.  When they got me home I went right to the top shelf, the crowning jewel of the entertainment center.  Just under me tele, the dude who made it all  possible. Tele was the canvas to my paint.  Next to tele on his own shelf, my best bud, spools.   ...

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The Appointment

Submitted to Contest #285

I remember my appointment, I remember my appointment, I remember my appointment.  Tuesday at 2. Tuesday at 2. Tuesday at 2.  …I’m totally going to forget again, I need to put a reminder in my phone. Where’s my phone? Crap, where did I put it now? Is it in the kitchen? Maybe I can make up a song to help me remember the appointment. What’s a good song to use…Oh, I know! Breakfast at Tiffany’s, I love that song! “And I said, when is my, appointment with the doooooctor,I said, I think it’s Tuesday at 2, and If I recall, I think, i...

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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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