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A weekly short story contest
Looking for a steady supply of fantasy 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 $50!
The device was humming, so they knew they just had to hit the button.
“Good morning! How are we today?”
The hologram was always a nice touch, thought Mildred. She and her partner made sure to get the most interactive features on the device. They had set up the appointment over a year ago and were not going to miss the set up for the price they paid.
“Oh, uh, WE ARE WELL!”
“George, again, you r...
"Miralee, you can't do this!" Corin raced after his sister. "Have you even thought this through?" he asked between breaths. Even after years of chasing after her, he still couldn't keep up with her quick stride. "Please stop for just a second," he pleaded, leaning on the rough cliff face on the side of the road.
Miralee turned around and smirked. "Slowpoke," she muttered.
"I heard that," C...
“It is time for you to go.” The shrouded figure leant heavily on their scythe and peered out from the depths of their hood. An outsider might’ve suggested that the hump in its back was old age, and the pressure of the millennia of work that it had endured.
In truth, it was boredom.
“But I wasn’t ready!” the obese woman cried. “I was going to the Bahamas next month!”
“Tell me, what do you want next year?”
Amaro looked over the old man’s shoulder and scanned the assortment of colorful crystals beneath the glass boxes.
“I want to be rich, Ezra. I’m tired of being looked down on. I’m tired of people thinking I’m worthless.”
“Are you sure?” Ezra asked. He knew that the request for wealth would always come up, but Amaro’s words bothered him....
“Next,” the woman behind the counter uttered unenthusiastically.
I stood up, number in hand, and made my way to the metal desk at the front of the room.
“Number, please,” the woman demanded, as I approached.
I handed her the ticket with the number 668 printed on the front, and waited as she gave me the next set of instructions.
Mabel; age: 25, cause of death: a car accident. Follow me, please. “Wha-what’s going on,” she cries out. I explain that she’s been involved in a hit and run and now needs to rest. She sobs as she looks towards her body, lying lifeless in the car. I block her view, “come on, follow me.” We arrive at my shop, where I counsel the souls before they depart. “What is this place anyway?” “it’s my sho...
Death strodes into the diner at half past twelve, autumn leaves swirling at her feet, white scarf billowing from around her neck like a bridal train.
The diner is empty — save for a tired looking waitress, who glances when she enters. The sound of jazz, along with the aroma of freshly baked lasagna, pours out of the open doors and into the night, and Death pauses. Considers. Then lets the door shut behind...
Author's Note: For one of my first stories of 2021 I decided to include all of my friends from Reedsy for fun. This story is dedicated to everyone included in it and all the other amazing authors on the site. It's inspired by Litlover's Marshmallow Pride story since the characters are real people. Also, I was inspired by the show His Dark Materials which I watched recently and loved. Sorry in advance if my descript...
The woman tightly gripped her barf bag. It was of the least concern given the circumstances, but admittedly she had been looking forward to the view on her flight. She felt silly for feeling this way; it didn’t matter now. The craft was in auto drive and the pilot had been side eyeing her for a long time. She had grown tired of it.
“Don’t think you can try anything just because of where you’re taking me.”
Death walked into the dinner on January 2nd with a dark wind on their tail.
It was practically deserted, except for 2 women on either side of the table. The one behind the bar, the bartender, was tall and thin, with intelligent, blue, almond shaped eyes that were buried in thick purple eyeliner. She spied Death out of the corner of her eye and without looking up, she slid a glass bottle filled with a dark...
Alma Neiman was known for nothing. Which in her line of business, was to her benefit. The Horned Owl, however, was known for her skills in relocation throughout the kingdom. She had been employed by assassin and mark alike, and that gave her the kind of power she needed to guarantee herself and her clients' safety. It was best no one recognized her, she knew. And among her clientele, in the palaces of the far-reaching kingdoms and in the dungeons of unfriendly nobles, sh...
I had been working for the Department of Afterlife Training and Reassignment for nine-thousand, four-hundred years, ever since dying in northern Mesopotamia at the age of seventeen. I do not remember my real name from that time - when spoken to, I was now called Uri - but I do remember how I died. I was one of the first human beings to ever drink themselves to death from the newly discovered drink of the gods: beer. It ...
It was Courtney versus the greed that was spawned forth by some earthly, very human, power-hungry energy. She was an ordained guide, and she chose to live a simple life. She cared for house plants, owned a garden of cabbage, and was to never get tangled up in the vineyards of pop-stars. These were the rules, and she agreed to them, but she also could not turn away anyone in times like these. Kevin was sure to be a
“It doesn’t matter now.” Foci leaned forward, xyr pink glasses slipping a millimeter down xyr nose. “Your past is in the past.”
The client sighed and smiled downward, shaking his head slightly. “Just like that? A new life?”
“All yours,” xe smiled and slid the document toward him.
He glanced once more at xem before tracing his finger along the dotted line.
The night was reaching its peak at the old tavern on Conjuror's Row. Inviting orange light spilled out of the windows and onto the street. The air inside was mildly opaque, both in the sense that smoke billowed from the pipes of relaxing adventurers and that the atmosphere of the place was one that begged for anonymity. It was for this reason that the nymph lounging in one corner frequented the place. Her gaze shifted continually around the room as she nursed her drink: an amber-colored brew that never seemed to empty.Between muscl...
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