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Discover weekly, the best short stories

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

340+ Indigenous Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. From folklores to modern tales of native people’s struggle to be heard, our indigenous stories have something for everyone.

Indigenous Short Stories – Page 2 of 23

Desperate measures

Submitted to Contest #285

                     Desperate measures  Hi, Joe it’s Richard. Can I call you on your secured line?  I want to discuss something with you. Sure, just give me ten minutes. Richard, go ahead. The line is fully secured. Thanks, Joe. I want to discuss a problem I have at my law firm.  You sound very stressed out. I am to the extent that I am preparing myself to take  a dramatic decision. Let me give you a quick overview of...

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DEMANDS THAT MAKE THE HEART GROW COLDER

Submitted to Contest #282

My home is in Northwest Russia. The White Sea is to the west stretching out to the base of Taymr Peninsula which is on the east side and the Sayan Mountains which are on the south side lead all the way down to the Arctic Ocean on the north side. Oymyakon is the village I live in. The closest village to where I live is Yuchyugei. We are in the thick of the tundra. Temperatures drop below -40° celsius on a regular basis. My name is Sergey, I am a reindeer herder from a long line of Sami people. We are the indigenous Nenets. For generations m...

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Eye of the Horse

Submitted to Contest #280

Warning: This story contains a graphic highway death under questionable circumstances “Oh my god!!” shrieked the women sitting in the airport van third and fourth row bench seats as the frigid air rushed in.   “Noooo!” I yelled, now alone and motionless in the second row. I never saw a guy die before, but I wasn’t totally surprised by what happened. “The door just opened and out he went!” sobbed one of the gals in the rear of the van. His body slammed onto the pavement of Pena Boulevard at 70 mph then was splattered by the US...

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A shameful death

Submitted to Contest #278

                                         A shameful death We lived in a large house with a big garden next to the vicarage.The house was situated in a charming village in the south of England. My father was the local doctor and my mother ran a small business selling her imaginative and unusual sculptures. Our home was always a hive of activ...

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Oh my...Goodness or Mercy?

Submitted to Contest #278

Grace has been the most difficult tool to grasp. The voices have only ever had one protector. The extension of a healing is so; Just be patient before participating too quickly. Be anxious for nothing. Don't dive in! The slope of a horizontal line is always zero and the slope of a vertical line is always undefined. Simply identify if the equation or graph is that of a horizontal or vertical line and then the slope is known. Premature emotion aren't quite ready for outward expression.I've leaned into hurt proudly first, discipline later, and ...

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No Rest for the Wicked

Submitted to Contest #277

And there she goes again, driving down the street in her matte black Jeep, returning from who knows where. The sleek, modern vehicle stood in stark contrast to the haunting ruin of her home. The iron gate, now an electronic fortress, opened with quiet efficiency—its sterile precision a jarring juxtaposition to the rot within. The Jeep disappeared behind the gate, heading toward the refurbished carriage house tucked behind the decrepit Victorian mansion.  The house, standing as the last on a dead-end street, loomed like a sentinel at th...

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From Andes to Amazon, How I Met Gil

Submitted to Contest #276

Yawar, our leader and guide, was undeniably drunk. The farewell party for the volunteer team we had traveled through the Andes with, ended on a sour note. Yawar had capitalized on his partner’s absence by flirting with the Australian girls. His behavior was entirely inappropriate. The young women were disgusted by his sloppy affections. I monitored him closely, ready to intervene if the girls needed me.Yawar’s girlfriend, Chaska, was also a certified guide. She had left Cusco that morning to deliver her son to his father’s house in another c...

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From Being Horrible in French to an Expert in Wendat: The long and Winding Road of Becoming a Linguist

Submitted to Contest #276

I never did well in French in elementary or high school. I was no doubt a source of amusement to my fellow students when I had to say something in French in front of teacher and students. One year I was forced to take a summer course in the language. The main thing I remember from that class was that there were people even worse in the language than I was, something my classmates and my family would not have thought possible.  Failing French was one reason (along with physics and a few other courses) why I failed grade 11 my f...

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Shhh

Submitted to Contest #275

Shhh A chill wind slaps her hair into her face. The strands are offensively straight, chopped off with the snip of the scissors. Shhh, the sound of it still echoes. With each strand cut loose, the sharp metal whispered to the hair to be quiet. Quiet the crying, quiet the stories you hold, quiet your ancestors, and quiet the generations to come. Hair is her lifeline, just as it was her parents’ and their parents’ before them. Generations dating back from before history was written grew into those strands of hair. Past, present, and future we...

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Erase the Past

Submitted to Contest #274

Jose Manganes, associate professor at Lima University on social anthropology, spoke to an attentive class of undergraduates,‘Good afternoon, everyone! Today, I want to pose a question that may seem bold, even a bit extreme: What if you, as budding scientists and thinkers, could invent a time machine with a singular mission—to go back and erase the Nazca lines from history? Now, this mission may sound drastic, even sacrilegious, but there are compelling, and very real, reasons that governments might find such an idea worth pursuing. So let’s ...

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My True Self

Submitted to Contest #274

My true self will be shaped by what I leave behind with my lingering shadows. The echoes of my actions in the silence of the night.I often ponder how we can reflect on our lingering shadows, as they are part of who we are, yet we often deny them.I must create my own identity and find meaning in the present because of the lack in my childhood, especially since I was abandoned at three years old. I’ve never worked on my identity until now.Since I was three, I’ve taken on different characters, used various methods to communicate with people on ...

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The Night Predator's Guide to Fine Dining

Submitted to Contest #272

The Night Predator's Guide to Fine Dining  Jackson, Wyoming is a great place to be a werewolf.   My name is Giles Garnier, born in 1343 in the Burgandy region of France, purportedly burned at the sake in the 16th century and came to the mountain west with trappers in 1708. Jackson holds a ski resort near Teton and Yellowstone parks, and you cannot swing a dead cat without hitting a billionaire. The woods and the rich folks make it ideal for us.  You humans may be wondering why you never hear of night predators, that ...

8 likes 1 comment 1
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Mzungu Dreams

Submitted to Contest #271

Mzungu Dreams The gentle wind whistling through the savannah grass was punctuated only by the grunting of rutting impala. Young bucks fought over who got to lead the small harem of does. They’d do this all day, and the leadership, or rather ownership, of the herd changed hands every hour. Such is the nature of life in Uganda’s Lake Mburo safari park.   “Look, Quincy! I made the Buffalo!” Meren, our local Bugandan safari guide, proudly displayed her clay buffalo skull to my seven year old. They had torn apart a termite mound and use...

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Ashes of Vengeance

Submitted to Contest #270

Deep in the heart of the Chaco forest, in that inhospitable region in the north of the province of Salta, Argentina, populated by indigenous peoples of various ethnicities, where the sun beats down mercilessly and the white wind carries dust of bones, myths and forgotten stories, lies the place called 'Telak Mok' in the Wichí Mataco language, which means 'Grandma's Ashes'.              Its name evokes uneasiness and fear, because there, under the shade of an old carob tree...

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The Magic Feathers of the Caburé

Submitted to Contest #269

Tajñí Lelé is a forest elf from the world of the Wichi-Mataco indigenous people, the most well-known and powerful, famous for his magical powers. He was called “Cabeza de Sajasta” (Sajasta Head) because of his curly, tangled hair, similar to the lichen that grows on the leaves of trees. He wore a green hat with two holes through which his pointed ears protruded, which moved in the direction of the sounds he heard. He had dark skin and long, hoof-like nails. He always carried an axe on his shoulder and a quiver full of poisoned arrows. When h...

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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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