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A weekly short story contest
Looking for a steady supply of romance 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!
“You wanna do something fun?”
We'd spent the day doing laundry and packing, and I needed a break. It was the second week of July, and we were dead in the middle of a midsummer heat wave. You can't escape the summer heat in Berlin: None of the older apartment buildings have air conditioning, and when the early summer rains stop and the temperature starts to peak all of the floor-length windows turn the fashionable ...
"You wanna do something fun?" She heard the words replaying in her mind like a broken record in an abandoned house. Threatening and ominous. She never knew what could have happened that night, that so much could happen, and yet almost wanting it to.
Katilin's day started out pretty normal. She had walked to the coffee shop across the street with her best friend Katie. They were ready to get senior year over with ...
The door before her was simple yet elegant, its edges sure, the ornamentation carved into the ebon surface maddeningly intricate in a way that even the most prodigious crafter would struggle to emulate. A curve of smooth, polished brass made its handle, matching the hinges and keyhole; mechanisms of such meticulous design that never would they perform their functions to anything less than the peak of their capabilities, ...
Gia was only 15 years old when she looked into the eyes of Cody for the first time. It took less than a minute for her soul to recognize him. Then without saying a word he turned and walked away from her. The sharp sting her heart felt never went away although he did. One day he just didn’t come to school. Someone told her that he had moved away suddenly. She regretted not speaking to him.
Gia married H...
"If you happen to forget your place or blank, just take a deep breath and just keep going. No one cares. "- said my dad. My dad had a tendency to move his hands empathetically when he was really trying to convince you of something. Like a magician waving a wand, or a Jedi knight trying to convince you this aren't the droids you were looking for, his heart was always in the right place. It's too bad this hand-waving, fath...
“You wanna do something fun?” he leans back and stares at the roof of the car, refusing to make eye contact with me. He has decided the fight is over. He loves me again. I can either go along or keep picking at it.
“Like what?” I laugh. He sits up and starts the engine. He rolls down the windows and slowly pulls out of his driveway. “Where are we going?” I ask.
“Trust me,” he replies. That’...
“You want to get out of here?” Hunter asks. My head feels light and slightly hazy from the orange flavored beers I’ve been consuming. A part of me longs to stay because I know our friend, Chase, won’t come with us if we leave. It’s hard to tell sometimes how much Chase even likes us and there’s an odd comfort in that. It’s what I expect, and it keeps me in my familiar role of constantly seeking approval. A part of me also wants to l...
“I don’t use social media,” Henry lamented to his friend, planted at the adjacent bar stool, “I’ll have to wait until summer and maybe then I could join a club or somethi..” “Comon man it’s been over a year now. You never leave your house and the only club you’ll join is an online chess club. You can always delete the app if you don’t use it.” Miguel had had this same argument with Henry at least five times before over the past year, in the same dive bar, and in same round, worn lea...
“You should be a model.” A grin spreads across Drake's face. He takes his skating partner's hand in his, assuming the starting position. Their fingers tangle together in a way that can only happen during practices and performances. His hand slips around her back, mimicking the start of a tango, el paseo. He’s held women before, but the bond he has with her asks more of him. In other affairs, he was able to escape but thi...
Have you ever played the word game called “Hangman?” To be honest, I don’t really care one way or the other if you have or you haven’t. It’s just that if you ever do play it, and you really want to stump the person you’re playing against, give them the word “phlegm.” You’ll win every time.“Phlegm” . . . and “mucus”—that’s another good one. Or you could try “mucous,” which is how you spell the word when it is an adjective instead of a noun. But wait, now that I think of it, most bodily fluid-type words would work...
“I am not a nice person in dreams.
At least, that’s what my friends have been telling me for years. Remember being young and having sleepovers? Well, just as sure as you were to have a bowl of sugary cereal or a pop tart the next morning, you were guaranteed to discuss any dream you had, and in great detail, if you remembered it.
No matter the friend, it was always the same.
The next time the woman passes me, her companion is no longer with her. She sits down on a bench to my right and looks to the sky, pensive, but not distraught.
I look away and remember the snippet of conversation I’d caught between her and the man she’d been walking with. I’d been on the same bench, simply soaking in the present. The silence in this stretch of the park was constructed by white noise—a babbling br...
My mind is foggy, I haven’t slept in days. The dreams came back last week and every time they invade my mind, I puzzle over them. They come and go like traffic - a while between waves and then you’re stuck in it. There’s a guy. He’s most of what drives me to madness. I can see him, but I can't at the same time. He’s a dark figure in my mind, his only distinct feature being his voice. I receive a daily letter from my mo...
By Todd Crickmer
The century-old boards creaked and groaned under the weight of Zeke’s boots. The sun bore down on the weathered brim of his cowboy hat as he brought his hand to his face to shield it from the noonday sun. Peering through the grime-incrusted station windows, he could hear the old railroad station clock ticking, but even straini...
This is my worst nightmare. Everything was dissolving into gray wisps of nothing. The violence had faded. The roaring scream of a dying life had deadened into a soulless whimper. The other noises became a chorus. A great collection of nature that held the note. A call to peace. A silent plea to feel the cool breeze instead of the starving heat. My house, my home. That’s it, and it’s all gone. I don’t deserve this.
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