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Discover weekly, the best short stories

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

3290+ 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 75 of 220

Kismet

Submitted to Contest #199

        People often told Abelle not to sit by the pond, nestled deep in the gardens. First of all, it was hidden by bushes and obscured their view of her. Secondly, there could be snakes, especially in the early summer. Thirdly, it was always a little pocket of humidity that tended to make her hair frizz and curl and ruined whatever look her mother had sculpted it into for the evening. Fourthly, she was a lady, and her objective at these parties was to be seen and fawned over, and people could not faw...

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Man from Out of Town

Submitted to Contest #199

George was walking down the street through this small city, although it was generous to call it either a street or a city. The largely illiterate Bantu population lived in self-built shacks with no utilities all spaced almost touching in winding narrow streets of dirt that went in no particular order. Allegedly, the whole city was squatters with migrants to the city arriving over the decades and putting their homes in open fields previously owned by now-displaced farmers. George did not know about any of that, but this location was relativ...

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Am I Here?

Submitted to Contest #199

Am I Here? H.E. Ross My city is seven miles by seven miles, maybe a little more or less on either side but essentially is a round-edged square. San Francisco is the kind of place you come to or leave. All of my life’s memories of that beautiful place are captured in rum and ice movements with only one big and important memory-box showing me sitting still and that was the day I started sailing. I sat on a rock beneath a small port entry light at the Marina Green and saw for the first time slanted sails driving spear blade hulls through foa...

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Something New

Submitted to Contest #198

The cry of the baby, always another baby as soon as one was ready to explore, the pitter patter, stop, and then more pitter patter of those newly exploring feet on the wooden floors, the creek of the beds with Mary, and David trying to find room to play, all of these sounds greeted Thomas every morning without fail. The smell of the baby’s napkins, constantly needing to be washed, the acrid smell of the coal stove, the familiar smell of the same porridge day in day out were a constant, and without change every day.  They weren’t all b...

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Talking Out of School

Submitted to Contest #198

Mr. Nolan Darman created an impression on the class the minute he walked into the classroom that morning.  We were notified that our English teacher, Mrs. Walton had given birth to a healthy seven pound daughter in the wee hours of the morning and would be out for a three month maternity leave.   “Sink the sub.” Was the word circulating in our second tenth grade classroom that morning. But when he came limping in the door, his eyes straight ahead as he walked to the teacher’s desk in the front of the room, I got the feeling ...

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An Age of Ending

Submitted to Contest #197

There had once been a time Marduk could create and destroy at will. He could raise cities to the ground, flood entire kingdoms, and from the ashes, flooded wastes, and plains raise up creations all his own. He would walk the earth, inspiring Kings and priests to not only worship his name but to dole out justice, based upon the laws he inspired the men of the world to write in his honor.  Now, instead of praising the great and powerful Marduk, people credit Hammurabi. “As if Hammurabi could have come up with even a quarter of those laws...

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Satterlee Hospital

Submitted to Contest #197

John woke up in the hospital bed feeling more tired than when he drifted off to sleep. Through the haze of his vision, he saw Mary Ann. He tried to smile for her, but the effort was too much. “Hi sweetheart.” He finally said.   Mary Ann smiled at the expression of endearment and sat by his bed. “Hello John. How are you feeling?”  John grimaced, not wanting to think about how he was feeling or not feeling. He had not quite come around to the reality of his situation and how he would get by in this life, in this way. “Tired. More...

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A Brush With History

Shortlisted for Contest #198 ⭐️

      It was a bitter winter that year, 1954. The coldest that century, they said, and fifteen-year-old Ernie Remsen was freezing; the layers of sweaters underneath his blue cotton mechanic’s jacket, a “Texaco” patch on the breast, couldn’t keep out the chill. Sal was the name embroidered over the left pocket. Ernie didn’t know Sal but was grateful he’d donated it to the church rummage sale. It was almost better than nothing.            Still, Ernie had stol...

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Everything I Introduce at the Beginning Comes Back at the End

Submitted to Contest #197

“The great god Pan is dead!” That was the cry that first fed the lie to Cleo. The fearful lie that brought with it the fallacy in the nature of impossibility that was suddenly shattered. If the great god Pan could die then surely she herself could die. The granted gift of immortality felt like it had been ripped from her fingers. Death was a lottery that she had never entered, it had never occurred to her that her name could be in the bowl too. Could a god really die? Cleo, bathed in flower petals in a bath drawn for her, debated that ques...

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Quiet In Their Minds

Submitted to Contest #197

QUIET IN THEIR MINDS The flickering shadowed light from the kerosene lantern danced across the page that lay on the lone table in the room. The quill pen paused above the parchment, then spotting its prey below, swooped down to the page. The frenzied scratches of the sharpened nib poured out words, demanding release. The script was wild and barely decipherable, mirroring the mind of the author. I lived an orphan’s life bereft of hope Resentful relations taking me in My thoughts spiraling downwards on a slope But then the voices came from d...

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The Fan

Submitted to Contest #197

I did not mean to drop my fan. By that, I mean, I did not mean to drop it for him - the duke of York, Edward. My sights were not set so high - I had politely resisted any and all interest he had shown and I had witnesses who would testify in my favour. But would they, now? I did not mean for him to jump in and pick it up, to inspect it, to slowly hand it back, for my awkwardness and embarrassment to be taken for more than just that, and for her to be watching in that moment - she who hated me for being my father's daughter, his illegitimate...

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Cruelty Mirrored

Submitted to Contest #197

Cruelty Mirrored Trigger Warning: Sexual and Physical Violence. They mutilated my brother soon after he was born. When he was declared a boy, my mother rolled over on her birthing bed and let the nurses take him. From there, they laid him on a table and went to work on his joints. First, his knees were dislocated, and later his hips. They then castrated him, which caused his screams to grow louder.  I cried out for him, but the nurses pushed me away. “Why? Why are you doing that to a child?” I yelled, but the nurses ignored me...

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A WALK IN THE SUN.

Submitted to Contest #197

Topic: A soldier seeks to escape his fate.              Word Count-1,016 excluding title.          Sergeant Preston did not feel optimistic. He fought Confederate General J.E.B. Stuart all the way to Gettysburg last year, boxed him in, and smashed him up. Then, General Meade transferred his veteran cavalry regiment to Sherman’s Army of Tennessee in the Atlanta campaign. Now, he struggled out here with General Joe Wheeler looking ...

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FREE WILL

Submitted to Contest #197

FREE WILL              “Alright. Let’s go ahead and start recording in 3, 2, 1.” Said the robot of historical records.My name is Willow Freedom Monrow. I was born on Century 13, an island metropolis of what you may remember in history called California, a part of the United States of America. But that was 13 centuries ago. Now, what is left of the USA and of the remaining world are large sectioned, islandic metropolitan cities that are divided by territories...

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Compensation

Submitted to Contest #197

When the cage reached the bottom, the place reminded me of the darkest December night: thick cloud cover, no stars, no moon. Nothing to light your way except for a few flickering candles. I made out yellow canaries sitting in cages, tweeting, a welcome sound among the many I heard that day. Dada said, ‘If one keels over, you get out quick before the fire damp gets you. You’ll be a goner if you don’t, my son.’            So many sounds resounded and blended. They made my head buzz: t...

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