Shortest Short Story Ever Novels & Stories

I set down my pen. It felt complete. Hope peeked over my shoulder. "That's all?" I laughed. "Sometimes the shortest stories carry the longest journeys." She considered that. Then nodded. "I like it." The Lantern of Beginnings shimmered. One tiny light floated from its crystal and settled gently onto the final page of my journal. The ink glowed softly. Then faded. The words remained. Permanent. As though the story itself had approved. A warm breeze swept across the valley. The flame on the pedestal danced gently.

Some of them have even taken her home and— Cheers erupted again when someone else, a middle-aged woman, stepped onto the stage and Lena stood beside her as she twirled her hair seductively. “Who will be going home with her tonight? Start bidding!” The woman yelled, and I watched as Charles stepped forward excitedly. “Five hundred dollars.” “One thousand dollars!” “Two thousand!” “Three!” “Ten thousand!” Kale, who was watching uninterested, leaned closer to me and whispered. “All this money for one chick? Ain't she too privileged?” He asked and I didn't bother replying to him as I stepped forward slowly. “One hundred thousand dollars,” I announced and the whole room went silent immediately as

"Tomorrow night, you come home. Celebrate Caleb's birthday with him." Flint nodded immediately. "I'll be here." On the third day, I prepared all of Caleb's favorite dishes. I set his photo in the chair and waited quietly for Flint to come home. The elders say that on the third day after death, the soul returns to have one last look at their loved ones. I hoped that when Caleb came back, he would see us—his parents—together, celebrating his final birthday. The clock ticked, hour after hour. Eight o'clock came, but Flint still hadn't appeared.

she says before walking out. I’m not family. Nothing is going on with King and me. Sighing, I walk to the class and sit down. I stop when I see the paper, the sketch, and the poem on it. The sketch is of an eye, with the reflection of a person walking in it. I begin to read the poem. A hundred words Doesn't speak enough A thousands stories Doesn't tell enough A single look, tells so much A lifetime of stories A lifetime of pain Emotions hidden within

In slow motion, my eyes close in on what I imagine utopia would be like. The casual sounds of the house are suddenly muffled and then silenced; the only thing continuing to exist in my world is Mason. I block out the thoughts of this being a one-night stand in favor of enjoying the experience, so unlike me. I allow myself to savor what he's offering, nothing but pleasure and ecstasy. I'm embarrassingly wet, but he doesn't seem to notice, or maybe doesn't care.