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Discover weekly, the best short stories

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

11070+ Sad Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. Do you ever need to break your own heart? We see you. Grab a tub of ice cream or a box of tissues and settle down with some of the best, really sad short stories to make you cry.

Sad Short Stories – Page 90 of 738

Gone but not Forgotten!

Submitted to Contest #267

It was an unusually dark Winters evening, which was devoid of any comforting light from either the, ‘usually bright’, moon or any twinkling stars, and there was also a chilling silence around this small town, ‘as if’, other people knew something that I didn’t! “It could have had something to do with the weather”? This little town, in where I lived, was very quiet for a Friday evening and I didn’t see anyone else roaming around the streets, like they’re usually seen scuttling from one pub to another one(‘for a relatively small town i...

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Anything for Love

Submitted to Contest #267

Anything for Love I felt the pain in my head instantly. It was throbbing to the same beat as Taylor Swift singing “Shake it Off” in the background. Who the hell put this song on my radio? My entire mouth tasted like metal. What could that be? I instinctively twisted my body to the right to look at Jay. He was so handsome. My rock. As I started to blink my eyes into focus, I realized he was dripping in blood. His head had a pretty severe gash across it. I’m sure his whole body was messed up but my head focused only on his face. “Baby, baby, ...

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Mum, I’m Scared!

Submitted to Contest #267

The smell hit first, even before my mind’s eye could grasp that I was, in fact waking up from something…when had I fallen asleep? I don't remember feeling at all tired.... in fact, I had been enjoying bouncing around on the back seat. Urg..that smell, acrid, overpowering. It’s tickling the back of my throat. I want to cough but my throat is just too dry. What happened? I remember being on the back seat. Window down. Enjoying the sun. Mum playing that noise she calls music, loudly, it hurt my ears. I remember he...

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Gone, But Not Forgotten

Submitted to Contest #267

It does not seem that long ago, but it has been almost 70 years since I first met the “Bowl”. The Bowl. Every boy at Sacred Heart, our Catholic grammar school, had a nickname. Michael Bowles was his given name, and it took several weeks in our fifth-grade year before I learned about his secret.  I remember it was in the middle of a typical Indian Summer when I first met Michael. The familiar warm breeze gently moved over the valley as if my mom had just covered me with a soft blanket on a cool evening. The smell of stewing tomatoes...

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Icarus and the Sun, A boy that will never be free.

Submitted to Contest #267

Icarus’s eyes gazed down at the pairs of wax wings that were hidden under his bed. They were ready to be secured to his and his father’s body tonight. They were going to escape, finally, after being a prisoner for years upon years.“Icarus? Come here!” Daedalus’s voice echoed off the overgrown stone walls. “Coming!” His own voice bounced back. He stared at the wax wings for a second longer then pushed his mattress over them,  protecting them from the watchful eyes of King Minos. He ran around the corner to Daedalus, stopping only when he...

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The gift

Submitted to Contest #267

The office of Dr. Bradley Sinclair was an oasis of calm and tranquility, the epitome of a well-kept medical practice. A gentle stream of pleasant muzak emanated softly from the overhead speakers, filling the room with an inviting ambiance that was both soothing and professional. The environment was meticulously designed to put patients and staff alike at ease, with muted lighting and tastefully appointed decor contributing to an overall sense of comfort and wellbeing. Dr. Bradley Sinclair, a well-respected physician with a distinguished care...

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The Dream Alchemist

Submitted to Contest #267

My family gathered in the old, white, dusty living room where my grandfather’s face stared at us from the painting above the fireplace. My father wore the same gray clothes he wore the day before. He concealed the same eagerness to start another conversation with, “You wouldn’t believe what I heard about dreams on my way from work!” My mother took the bait and replied, “What about them??! Did they find a way to get them back?!!” she knew deep down they ...

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Sunsets and Tears

Submitted to Contest #267

Cassandra and I had been together for two years, but I wanted more. So, it was time for me to start planning the next step and I knew exactly what I was going to do. And on a hot Wednesday in the middle of July, everything was in place.             “Let’s go down the shore later, walk the boardwalk and grab a cheesesteak.”           “Okay.”           We both showered, got dr...

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The Nine of Diamonds

Submitted to Contest #267

The Nine of Diamonds“Atlas had always suffered from chronic sadness,” spoke his mother, in earnest commiseration for whom she had, and would forevermore love, “and if…I had but been a better mother, I could...have…steered him away from all those corruptive, addictive drugs that so doomed Atlas,” blaming herself for no reason save sickly heartache. She paused to observe the benign faces in her funebrial milieu, which her distraught mind hallucinated her into bethinking to be menacing, leering, and despiteful. Her tristesse beset her to parano...

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The Greater Good

Submitted to Contest #267

The bad news was expected. What precisely it would be, was not known, but its coming was expected. There had been a shift in the wind; the air too humid, the sky too grey. Dark winds bring dark words, as the common wisdom goes – a wisdom commented on by scholars, nans, and priests alike this day. It is no coincidence that rain is the backdrop for sadness for movies and plays, or that thunder brings an innate fear regardless of how close one is to comfort, warmth and shelter. By some divinity, or animal instinct, it was known that something ...

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Rain and Revelations

Submitted to Contest #267

TW: Drunk driving reference. “Gonna be a big storm this afternoon,” Big Jim mumbled in his thick voice, pausing to swipe his forearm over his brow before going back to mucking out the stall. It wasn't even 9 o'clock yet, but the heat was radiating up from the scorched ground. I rolled my eyes at him, but I made sure his back was turned to me first. I was raised to act respectful towards adults, even if I didn't always feel it had been earned. And at 17 years old, I figured I was practically an adult myself. The world was laid out before me l...

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The Man in the Alley

Submitted to Contest #267

The Man in the Alley Another morning buzzed to life and the same cast of characters stood ready to play their part on the grand stage of Third Street in Seattle between Pike and Pine. A frail dredge of a man stumbled out of an adjacent alley, squinting through a light drizzle misting the buses as they bustled their passengers up and down the avenue. He cleared the ringing in his eardrums from the blaring ambulance siren that awakened him from a restless slumber of fears and delusions. His joints ached from the cardboard covered concrete bed ...

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A benevolent dream

Submitted to Contest #267

     Allow no man to asunder the love we engender; bereft of the tongue which apostatized the moon, this vessel had grown no more than a squirming mass cast aloft the abyss. Yet even stripped of light, a spurned star grows apathetic to its aches of melancholy, one's lament eclipsing the interminable laughter of the skies.     If one is ever remedied of agony, who was once divine must pray for their forgiveness… To balter amongst the precipice of demise, finding love amongst the maelstrom of g...

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The Ronin and The Poet

Submitted to Contest #267

The RoninNarrow streets meander between tranquil homes of poets and artists, while dimly lit alleys harbour thieves, beggars and courtesans, creating a discordant blend of creativity and menace. At night, one is shrouded in shades of grey and shadowy indigos, where the flickering glow of lanterns casts a golden light over the cobblestones. This striking dichotomy bares resemblance to people who inhabit this village, constantly gambling on the delicate balance between benevolence and malice – love and hate. Those who walk the tight ...

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Adolescent Tempest

Submitted to Contest #267

Skeel Nishiyama stared down into the courtyard, sparsely lit by dying lamplight, at the body of a woman who had lived only moments ago. Even from the balcony, the child could see blood pooling around the lifeless corpse, seeping into cracks lining the stone streets. He could smell it; blood was on the steel railing he clung to now, where she'd fallen back and ripped open her palm. He couldn't bring his voice out, the night as silent as the unmoving lump of flesh. The corpse of his mother. His insides threatened to spill out as the spinning s...

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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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