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Discover weekly, the best short stories

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

220+ Latinx Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. Looking for exciting new stories by Latinx authors? Look no further — these stories are a must-read for anyone hoping to learn more about Latin culture, or to become a patron of its freshest voices.

Latinx Short Stories – Page 9 of 15

The Dying Grass.

Submitted to Contest #117

“Everything was ready for the ritual.” The Dying Grass Moon burned red as it set itself upon the land. As the seeds and the green broke through the dire earth, The valley was kind to its tenants. But it asked for a tithe in kind.   The canal passageways once nourished the roots, the hoofed beasts and the tiller . The ripples shifted from black to red alongside the night fires. Smoke and ash danced across the twilight. old almond groves had to be purged and returned to the soil. The charred haze from brush fires in Sonora and Nap...

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The Firing

Submitted to Contest #109

The Firing. Fani dressed carefully for the meeting. She wanted Ramon to see her the way she used to look, her dark eyes made enormous with kohl and her full mouth painted a rich crimson. Her last touch was to slide her blade inside the waistband of her jeans and button her grey linen jacket to conceal it.    She was never punctual. But this time, she planned to arrive thirty minutes late. Propped against the flaking, sunbaked wall of the Hotel Pacifico, watching the street urchins hustle while her thirty minutes ticked b...

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A Woman's Authority Rebuked

Submitted to Contest #109

Assistant Pastor Francisca Cortez watched the nearly two dozen yelling protesters stomping within the church yard of her new job. Her heart began to accelerate with concern. A surge of adrenaline mobilized through her bloodstream. Her hands trembled on the steering wheel and her stomach tightened as she watched them against her rear view mirrors. No one had prepared her for what she witnessed. The group of provoked adults carried signs displaying JEZEBEL GO HOME, 1 TIMOTHY 2:12, WOMEN AREN’T LEADERS among other hand made ...

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The Love We Share

Submitted to Contest #105

The Love We Share  There is a tale told of a promise made between mother and daughter. A contract of soul, where one can not move onto the next realm unless the service owed has been paid twice. No matter how virtuous the mother has been, or obedient the daughter. The cost for sin was and will always be paid twice. Each needing the other for repentance, and the promise made bond in the womb. As times changed, so did the hearts of daughters. Mother: But I gave you everything, Ingrata My heart was bleeding. I have done my part. I Show...

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A Genius Up in the Stars

Submitted to Contest #105

Yara sat in the cramped emergency pod, her muzzle twitching in the stale air. What an adventure, she thought. Her claws scratched at the metal as she stood on her two feet, her tail swinging out to balance herself. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed since she’d stowed away on the visiting ship, only that she was probably miles and miles away from home. “You don’t belong here,” a feminine voice said from nowhere. Yara looked up at the ceiling and around the curved structure of the pod, finding a small speaker built into the wall. ...

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Mi Leah

Submitted to Contest #104

 Gabriel let out an exaggerated sigh and relaxed his posture. After a twelve-hour shift he was finally home. “hey, you” he said to the yellow cat snuggled up on the couch. Good thing his mom wasn’t home or she would have thrown both of them out for getting hair on the couch. And believe him the last thing you want to do is mess with a Mexican mom and her couch. He picked the cat up and snuggled her against his chest ”I'm jealous of you cheddar, I go to work you're sleeping. I come back and you’re AGAIN sleeping. you spoiled br...

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Compassion’s Our Habbit and Baby We Have It

Submitted to Contest #104

“I mean it Caroline. Ethan is not a good guy.” “What do you mean not a good guy?” “I mean I know his type. A low life, guitar playing, marijuana hippie.” “Marijuana hippie?” “Well not hippie like 70’s Californian hippie but hippie like smells like green.”Caroline glanced across the hall, at the stallion himself. A 17 year boy with dark hair and blazing, smoking eyes. His features were sharp and reminiscent of James Dean. He wasn’t the most buff looking guy but he had muscles. He wore a black t-shirt and ripped j...

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Butterflies in Guanajuato

Submitted to Contest #104

Me and Kylie were best friends, a mutual attachment bonded through empathy for each other's anxieties. I remembered the first day we met early in the school year in math class. I noticed her sitting in the back of the classroom trying to avoid the teacher's gaze by burying her face in her text book. She looked so uncomfortable and shocked when she was called out once to answer a question in front of class. I could see a reflection of myself in her, to have those feelings of inadequateness mixed with anxiety was difficult. She didn't know wha...

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City of the Gods

Submitted to Contest #103

Calpillo and his little sister Xochil harvested corn from their parent's corn field for dinner for the night while his mother Xochimilco harvested beans. Xochimilco cooked the Rabbit, corn and beans, and the family ate supper for the evening in peace. Their father Texcoco came back with a Rabbit. Texcoco and his family lived happily and peacefully with their tribe in the land of Aztlan. The Tribe took good care of their land and got along well with the neighboring tribes. Later that night, the tribe was gathered around a large bonfire when a...

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The Imaginary Cabbage Stew

Submitted to Contest #103

C: ‘Are you asking about the impact the accidente had on the family? Well, there’s no family to speak of anymore, to start with. But I just want to scream: be yourself no matter what, you know. God, when I first came to this town, I had no idea, I had to reuse my lashes twenty times, that’s how poor I was, I reattached them until the residue glue was too heavy to keep my eyelids open. I had to ride to auditions on a bike, in the heat, can you imagine?‘And I saw him across the bar one night and boom, ten years later, some late-night arguments...

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Bread & Water

Submitted to Contest #102

The first time my father calls me a joto,[1] I am five. I don’t know what the word means yet, but I know what he means by the hate in his eyes, the rage on his lips, the disgust on his tongue as he spits it out—¡joto! Like chunks of sour milk in his coffee. Like a mouthful of blood. Like a fly that had the gall to die in his beer—¡joto! The word reaches across the breakfast table and smacks me across the face, sucks the air from my lungs, rips my world out from under me. Then he does. With his big meaty hand. With his grip like a vice. He re...

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Dying Stars

Submitted to Contest #102

Life has taught me that humans are dying stars. We spend all of our lives growing bigger and bigger, some more than others, but we grow nonetheless, some shine more than others and some make a bigger impact than others but they are all stars, dying stars. You see, the star keeps consuming its own energy in order to shine and serve as a beacon of light and life for those that cannot shine, just to blow up in the end and make a huge spectacle out of it. Some stars shine without emitting any heat, and some shine harder once they have died. Huma...

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Buen Provecho

Submitted to Contest #100

The kitchen was her kingdom. She stood before her domain, taking in the immaculate, cozy view and fragrant smell of spices that enticed her. The sun shined brightly through the two windows, giving the auburn cabinets a honey-colored tint. With a smile on her face and swiftness in her hands, she grabbed the black apron, decorated with a colorful candy skull surrounded by a plethora of vibrant flowers off the wall, placing it over her head and effortlessly tying it around her slender waist. On her way to the sink, she lightly tapped the sky bl...

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Barbacoa Float Life

Submitted to Contest #100

"I'm full! Really!" I stopped on the boardwalk, my arms heavy with leftovers. A thermos with left over chicken noodle, not the good kind, and somewhere underneath the activewear jacket hung over from my mother's era, the straps of a Walmart salad bag, contents now slightly wilted, twisted around the two smallest fingers of my left hand, a local roaster's day-old espresso with a white layer bloom like chocolate gets when it sees moisture. And notebooks. Five or six notebooks with bits and bytes of data, some strains of old songs, right brain-...

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Uncle Rudy's Last Gift

Submitted to Contest #100

Uncle Rudy’s Last Gift By George Key A chill came over Sticks as he prepared to make the short journey to the annual “Break Bread and Jam Til’ the Rooster Crows Christmas Party”. Taking that last glance at the broken mirror just to make sure he was sportin’ his lady killer best. Sticks knew that every musician in Tucson that was anybody was going to be there. Christmas gigs were few and far between on the average Christmas, however, Christmas 2020 was beyond bleak. COVID-19 shut down most venues and the city placed an early curfew on it...

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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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