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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.

3280+ 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 99 of 219

The Hummingbird

Submitted to Contest #148

“I’d be an atheist, but then I’d have no one to be angry with,” Horacio lisped. His delicate fingers brought the cigarette closer to his face, then back near mine with a languid, fluid motion that reminded me of fishing lines over Lake Chapala. I’d recently gotten into the habit of swallowing the bait, although I could see the hook perfectly well. “Socialists are always atheists,” I responded. I flicked the ash off the end and wondered if I was bored with him. “I've heard you say it yourself.” Horacio and I began each night dining ...

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The Final Thoughts of the Building at the Corner of 2nd and D

Submitted to Contest #148

I knew my demolition would be inevitable. My halls have been left empty for so long now. My pipes are a wet mess of rust and mold. My electrical wiring and conduit have been reclaimed by nature. My insides are nothing more than chewed wires and bird’s nests these days. The carpet on most of my floors has a festering slime in the fibers. Multiple inspectors said they’d never seen anything comparable, and warned against anyone entering. That’s likely why they’re tearing me down. I suppose by this point I’m comparable to a rabid animal, a dange...

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Razing the Franklin Apartments

Submitted to Contest #148

The bulldozers pulled up early in the morning in front of the Franklin Apartments.  By the end of the workday, the once famous apartments were gone.  Nothing, but a hole in the ground.  As the work crew cleared the area for the demolition at one in the afternoon, no one noticed the old man in the wheelchair and a much younger man escorting him.  As the foreman signaled an "all-clear" to his crew, those gathered to watch the razing of the Franklin Apartments were awed by the flash and ancient walls as the building crumble...

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The Couple

Submitted to Contest #147

Even the footlights were out. The film had unceremoniously been cut off at the height of the climax. Had they been followed? Around them, the theater chattered. Men slapped hats against their legs while women rung their gloves. The couple sat in stony silence. His grip tightened on the armrest as sweat dripped down his temple. The darkness pressed against her eyes. She strained to see anything. Red nails tapped against her skirt. She believed she could make out the head sitting in front of her. She thought of their small apartment, prob...

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Front row at the Friday matinee

Submitted to Contest #147

Straining her arm as close to her face as possible, Alice reads her watch in the occasional bursts of light from the big screen: 4.37pm. Her skirt is sticking to her legs, the coarse fabric of the cheap seat is rubbing into the sweaty folds of skin under her knees; even her palms feel damp, drumming the armrests in frustration. Did she really only check her watch two minutes ago? If there were a thermometer in the cinema the mercury would be rising, steadily, like the excitement of the young audience; but she can only sit here, perspiring an...

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The Theatre's Darkness

Submitted to Contest #147

[CW - Coercive control, trauma, violence] “Are they ever going to turn the lights back on?” asked Kathy with a quiver.  “No. Not for a couple of years,” replied Alan.  Kathy shifted in the luxurious seat. She thought about how, during different times, the rich and famous occupied each chair, observing the rapid advances in modern cinema. They saw the silent films of Chaplin give way to movies with chattering actors who spoke as if they were in the room with you. She had even heard rumours of films recorded in colour, just like...

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Here's Looking at You, Kid

Submitted to Contest #147

The first time Renko Wallinski saw Casablanca, he was an usher at one of the decrepit downtown movie theaters when his grasp of English was not total at the time.   He was, however, completely enraptured when the screen filled with Ingrid Bergman’s face imbued with tears in her eyes over her chance meeting with Rick in his Tunisian café.  The letters of transfer were still in Bogart’s possession. “Renko, I am not paying you to gawk.” Mr. Flynn tapped the big man on his shoulder. “Sorry, sir.” He saluted touching the corner ...

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Legend.

Submitted to Contest #146

Legend  Bench seats covered in dark green laminate type stuff. The green covers the brown laminate stuff that would get hot and burn. The green gets hot but stops before your legs turn red. The green does have a bad aftertaste unlike the brown which had almost zero, just a hint of gum or candy that may have been touching it last. The gum on the floor and under the seats add texture and color. A bit of squish if recent and soon to be a hard immovable mass if it's been a week or so. The runway down the middle is silver with black...

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A Tempestuous Mind

Shortlisted for Contest #146 ⭐️

I fear I am unwell.My startling outburst last evening must have confirmed this for you, and it will come as no surprise to anyone if you choose to put me away. I heard the viscount committed his own wife for a much lesser offense; the poor woman allegedly exhibited a fit of rage over tangled embroidery thread. Describing her behavior as “unnerving and volatile,” his assessment was damning enough to secure her future behind a stone-walled asylum. Though I dare never mention where my loyalties lie in the matter, I feel quite sympathetic toward...

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I’M NO PATRIOT

Submitted to Contest #146

I’M  NO PATRIOT  I, John J. Bethlehem, am an American by birth, a flake by reputation, and a nationless person by inclination. I was born in Schneneckty, New York, “upstate”, we called it, at the family summer home, where all Bethelhem's are born. My father, Derald Schwab, was born in Texas, son of a Baptist preacher who became an engineer for General Electric and then moved up North, where he met my mother, Diane Bethlehem. She was born in Schneneckty, one of the many daughters—both legitimate or otherwise to one Samuel Bethle...

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Monsters of Bomarzo

Submitted to Contest #146

Fear. The ultimate emotion. Primordial. The human instincts whether real or perceived have given us all the ability to react swiftly with a startled heart, clammy palms or the nostalgic goosebumps up our arms triggered by a sight, a sound or even a thought.  It was this emotion that predominantly occupied the thoughts of Vicino Orisini, the Duke of Bomarzo. Haunted by his 11 years in service to the Papal Army. War is the most certain way to form traumatic triggers. Triggers that cause the sudden influx of shock to a system based on memo...

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Escape From Waverly Hills Sanitorium

Submitted to Contest #146

He was a patient at the Kentucky Waverly Hills Sanitorium where the walls are still stained with blood in some places and the ghosts of former patients still wander the halls.   The police surrounded the abandoned building that had closed its doors in 1961 after multiple reports of patient abuse and maltreatment using electroshock as punishment and frontal lobotomies to placate those patients with a record of violent or any sort of antisocial behavior.  Looking down on the scramble of activity in the courtyard in front of th...

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Triangular Nightmare

Submitted to Contest #145

With July’s rising temperatures and high humidity Wilma sat in the kitchen nook with a bottle of Coke. Wearing nylons and her ankle-length nursing gown she was over-heated and dehydrated.  Throughout the day the heat upstairs was unbearable. Every window was open in the mansion, but with no breeze, the oscillating fans in the residents’ rooms were only blowing hot air.              She removed the stethoscope from around her neck and took off her white nursing ca...

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Was that really me?

Submitted to Contest #146

Dear Past Me, It's time to go over the past and try to understand what it all meant. I don't think I could have ever imagined that being a very strong, independent, California girl, it would be possible to change my whole life by making a simple decision? Or was it really a major, life-changing decision? I would not have thought that love would take me away from my home, my family and my faith. But, it certainly did the moment he entered my life. He was the first Egyptian man that I had every met. He was older, sophisticated, handsome an...

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Bathtub Shine

Submitted to Contest #145

Note: This story contains mentions of race and violence. Harlem, 1926 I looked dazzling. My heavily made-up face and short finger-curls made me glamorous and chic, the cosmetics catapulting my looks from plain to striking. “Sienna, you’re up,” Iva, the manager of the dancers, told me as I applied my scarlet lipstick, the final touch for the effect I wanted. A full-figured, dark-skinned woman, Iva hailed from Charleston. For some reason, she refused to cut or straighten her long, course hair, and instead opted for styles from the previou...

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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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