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

3270+ Historical fiction Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. Whether you’re looking to step back into ancient civilizations, the 19th-century, or anywhere in between, our collection of historical fiction stories is here to keep you riveted.

Historical fiction Short Stories – Page 101 of 219

High Noon

Submitted to Contest #143

Nothin' violates your rights more than the creepin' mid-day sun in mid-June, especially if you workin’ outdoors. When I woke up this mornin', Mama told me it was my birthday. She has her own way of rememberin' that kinda thing. I think the way she tracks my birthday is by the way the sun sets, or doesn’t, rather. She always tells me I was born on the longest day of the year, and the hottest accordin' to her memory, but all the pregnant ladies are always sweatin’, never complainin’ though. “Complainin' don’t do nothin’ but make you hotter and...

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The Doomed Crew

Submitted to Contest #143

The doomed crew drifted down Slave River in their rotten York boat. They had given up on paddling. Fatigue, strain, and hunger had ripped all layers of thought so that only the roaring of the river and the cries of the pelicans filled their heads. Most of the original crew, the rejects of the Hudson Bay Company, had died from sickness or attacks. Four of them remained, including the Husky, who was covered in dirt and had patches of hair missing, exposing the pink, damaged skin. Halfy—a nickname he hated—stood at the front of the boat, the po...

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Whispers of the Past

Submitted to Contest #142

I used to achieve top marks in my class before coming to this university. Now, no one is perfect, but I might have been. Nearly perfect SAT scores, a GPA that was technically higher than a 4.0 and honors opportunities left and right. I likely could have applied to Ivy League schools and got in. Thinking back, I should have applied just to see if I could. But I didn’t. I knew I wanted to come here. There was something that drew me to the old buildings. Something that pulled me towards lifetimes of history and knowledge. I didn’t feel the nee...

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Vigil

Submitted to Contest #142

Candlelight gleams on the wooden rafters overhead as the chanting of The Exsultet fills the darkened church. Then the voices of the choir swell in multiple responsorial Psalms, and readings are intoned as flames flicker atop the white wax tapers the congregation hold in their hands. A quiet thrill goes through me as I listen to the first chapter of the book of Genesis - “And the earth was void and empty, and darkness was upon the face of the deep; and the spirit of God moved over the waters.” Though I can hardly see it in the sepul...

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THE RED POND

Submitted to Contest #143

RETURN TO SHILOH                                                                      1,057 words           The pond haunts my sleep these past twenty...

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THE EMPIRE

Submitted to Contest #142

Write about a character on the hunt to solve a mystery who uses their local library (or librarian) as a source of information. AN EMPIRE Mantua – Italy Amadeus stood on the stair pondering matters. Time passed. War had ravaged every one of the Empires from France, Saxony to Prussia and Austria. These were desperate times and the 7 years war had not left one land untouched by the madness of territorial conquests. Even the British were fighting in Canada and further south in America. What did any of this really mean, aside fr...

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Past Life

Submitted to Contest #142

(Authors note: Remember, Nazis were terrible people. Sadly, there probably weren't any Nazis back then like Johann. Enjoy.) I am an old man, and I sat in my rocking chair as I cleaned the lenses of my glasses. My grandson sat on the rug. "Grandpa Gregor, tell me a story. One with a villain. One with an army. One with a happy ending!" My grandson said. I stopped cleaning my lenses and smiled. "I will tell you a story, and in fact, it's true. There is a villain, several armies. But it depends on the person if you're asking for a happy ...

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Tome Travel

Submitted to Contest #141

The arrogant cat had been on Arnold’s nerves for hours. It was long past the ‘getting on’ stage. The cat was plucking at his nerves as if he was a violin and she was a murderously aggressive violinist.             “If they’re not a cat, then they’re not a real god,” she insisted, licking her black paw.             “That’s a very bold statement,” said Arnold, clanking as he dusted one of the exhibits in the Museum of Magical...

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The Sonata

Submitted to Contest #141

Gisella di Vallepietra sat, as gracefully as she could, on the embroidered padding of the stool before her instrument. She brushed off her silky skirts, and threw (yet another) anxious glance around the two dozen guests now ambling to their seats in her father’s gilded sitting room. Signore di Vallepietra rarely threw such ornate dinner parties – he could barely afford their ornate Venetian villa as it was – but Gisella had spent months begging her father to host a fine affair which might showcase her hard-won musical gifts. He had finally a...

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Humanity On Trial

Submitted to Contest #141

We were asked to give our disquisition on humanity. So here it is. This shall be brief. It’s not the first time we’ve been asked about our position on the creation of man. Our stance was unanimous. We still think they’re hostile. Belligerent. They were a primitive race light years ago. Racing against the sands of time to evolve. To prosper. To adapt in a world that’s truly fitter without them. And now, they have perished. They are forgotten. Their memory has long been woven into the fabrics of space and time. This is an assessment of their r...

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When We Survive

Submitted to Contest #140

My nostrils are burning. The fumes radiating off the Tarmac are making my eyes water. I’m under my bird pre-flighting the nose gear—my shoulder blades pressed into a plastic creeper. I can’t rub my eyes again without coating them in grease. Someone runs by me, nearly tripping over my foot. I try to roll out from under the bird and hit my head. Before I can stand, Ray grabs my arm and yells something. I can see his mouth moving, but my ears are ringing. More people are running now. The first fuel pit explodes shortly after I secure my flak a...

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Where Were You That Day?

Submitted to Contest #140

I thought JFK was assassinated on a Wednesday. Why? Because I always went to the cinema that day. The picture house at Eastbourne was the only one that showed a fresh film midweek and weekends. I could watch a new programme twice in seven days and different films at the other three cinemas. There was little else to do at the seaside town, especially during the winter months.I was sixteen and in my second job since leaving school. After paying out tax, insurance, superannuation and union money, I had little left of my weekly wage. I paid gran...

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Fence Post

Submitted to Contest #140

(CW: Descriptions of gory injuries and post-traumatic stress.)Austin Tretheway felt like he had aged several years in the months he had been laid up in Stalag V C’s hospital. For the first time in months, he was able to look into a mirror, and wondered if the man in it was really him. The man’s face was hollow. His bones were more prominent. His eyes were deeper in their sockets, and lined with dark circles.“Corporal,” he said, looking at the German medic, Wenzel, measuring fluid in an IV drip bag, “is it really March already?”“Yes,” Wenzel ...

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Memories

Submitted to Contest #140

I remember like it was yesterday. The memories of that horrible day does not fade with each passing day, the memories get stronger. I maybe old, but my memory is youthful. I can still hear the planes. I can still smell the smoke. I can still hear the explosions. I can still hear the screams of the dying. Things like that never fade. Memories like those never fade. Yes, there are times when I wish to forget, but every time I see or hear a plane flying, I am reminded of that day. Remembering and honoring those who lost their lives is eas...

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THE RADIO

Submitted to Contest #140

It was always the sound of his voice that called me to the radio. Too young to understand the words, I was not too little to realize my parent’s reaction to the voice on the radio. At times, there was also the sound of a woman’s voice, which they equally hated. From my bedroom, I knew the radio was about to go on by the sound of the heavy wooden shutters at the front of our small flat, which dad pulled down a few minutes before they sat down to listen. Then, daddy’s steps toward the small entrance hall, a small sofa, and a side table with ...

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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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