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A weekly short story contest
Looking for a steady supply of people of color short stories? Every week thousands of writers submit stories to our writing contest.
Coming of Age
People of Color
Teens & Young Adult
We'll send you 5 prompts each week. Respond with your short story and you could win $250!
I walked quickly across the busy yet quite coffee shop, making my way to Rosalind, my best friend, and sat silently across from her. Rosalind was tall and thin, with espresso skin, angelic forest green eyes, glossy full lips and short curly maya blue hair. Me and Rosalind had been friends since middle school and even then she was the one to get us in trouble and I was the one to always get us out. We were impossible to separate and even when we were we always found some way to communicate with each other.“So who is ...
By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. Dark green had been transformed to bright orange. The sunlight enhanced its iridescence, creating the sparkle that flickered in tandem with the wind. I closed my eyes and inhaled. This was freedom. “Don’t hope to see you back anytime soon,” said the man behind me. A short, reluctant chuckle burst from my lips. “Same,” I replied.
“By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. There was a smell unlike the scent of the bonfires we danced around. The darkness of the smoke choked me and I was completely alone. I fell into the grass, gulping down my last of courage hoping to escape. When I awoke, the forest was ugly with the destruction done by the hunters. They wanted to weed us out, wanted to hunt us like animals. But they did not know it...
Summer was over. Leaves started to yellow significantly in the sun. The wind blew off falling leaves. As far as the eye could seen, there was only seem the brown leaves. Why did leaves change color?
Yeah, autumn is coming.
This story isn’t tell about how wonderfull the leaves falling in the autumn. This story is telling about a coffee shop and it owner, and also their waiters who confused about a new menu ...
By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. The trees were lit like the torches of the giants and cast a glow on the people below as they ran pell-mell. Some carried shopping bags and shoe boxes, dropping items and not looking back in their hurry. Others carried signs that were almost forgotten in their rush to leave the war-zone-like atmosphere. Their faces were distorted with the anger and fear they all...
By the time I stepped outside Starbucks to try their pumpkin spice latte, the leaves were on fire. The leaves of the trees had turned to red and gold. The beauty and splendour before me was something I have seen only in postcards and brochures. My heart fluttered as I began clicking away, completely immersed in what I was doing when,,,oops! My step faltered. I had stumbled on a piece of rock."Aray!" I cried aloud, hoping nobody had heard or seen what happened or I would have been embarassed. But I was wrong. Somebody did see me.
“So what are we doing today?” I asked Eugenie.
“Apple picking,” she replied. She said it like it was obvious, like we had spoken about a thousand times before. In fact, this was our first interaction on the subject.
“What is that?”
She gave me a wry look. “Exactly what it sounds like.”
“Literally picking apples? That’s a thing you do?”
It was the beginning of October, the weather was getting colder and the nature was colorful. I loved autumn, it brought me some coziness. It was not like summer, constantly hot, nor like spring - frequent rains. It was beautiful because of the variety of colors describing an amazing natural picture.
My parents and I went to visit my grandfather in the village. Every year at this time we would gather to pick apples...
Biggie Biggie saw the movie Notorious and like himself, liked his nickname— American rapper, no school but more money than Teacher. Mixing cement and carrying gravel for concrete casting made Biggie money. He liked work, people liked him. He worked and was very happy. His head pan load made others looked bad, Biggie wouldn’t stop working. He loved to do it but seeing the girls a...
Her feet are feeling the wet and warm tar of the street. “Am I getting an infection?” She wonders. She has always been paranoid about catching something. She has always believed to stay far above the ground wearing well protected shoes. “Boots are the best”, she always thought. She made sure her two sons always wore boots. But then how did she get here? She is wearing her summer slippers, walking...
Charis leaned over Cleopatra to grab her cup. “So, are you worried about going home?”
Cleopatra sipped her wine, and grimaced. The farther they got from Italy, the more bitter and watered down the wine became. “Worried?”
“Anxious. You haven’t been home since your dad got exiled. Are you worried that things have changed?”
“Of course they’ve changed. I wouldn’t be going home if they hadn’t.”
JOELYS TRUJILLO FONTANEZ
The fist struck my face. Again and again. As he did until there was nothing but blood clouding my vision, bruises dancing across my pale skin. Until I was nothing but a ragdoll.
This isn’t abuse.
Kai’s a difficult trainer after all. For two years, I begged him to teach me how to fight like he does. He only agreed this year....
Another day passed mopping floors at ‘the plaza’, God! I hate summer here , first of all summer in Chicago is not actually summer , it’s still cold. I don’t drink, even though I am 32 and I live alone , I mean there is literally no one to tell me I cant , I am grown man but every time this thought comes to my mind of drinking I just remember my mother back in Pakistan and the promise I made to her , “you are going just t...
It’s funny how people hold on to things. Somehow a frayed notebook carries memories of carefree days past, while a piece of glass reflects a shattered home. A dusty scarf smells like your favorite roast dinners, while a rusted gold ring reminds you of a cheap love. I guess it’s quite simple, really. Objects that others dismiss mean the world to you; they hold the sentimental values of your whole universe. Sometimes I look at the locket, turn it around until it starts to look like another scar on the palm of my hand....
It was my favourite time of the year, everyone's favourite time of the year if we are being honest, Christmas and I was packing my clothes and shoes from school for the long anticipated holiday. I hummed in unison with the old Christmas track album our hostel matron played. It was distant but yet gloriously divine. We had something similar at our family house and we would play all the tracks on repeat for the whole night...
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