Autumn Short Story Prize 2025

Mara found the ticket in a novel she'd bought second-hand — not a train ticket, but a bus stub dated ten years earlier. The stop was hers. She'd moved away at eighteen and swore she'd never look back. That evening she rode the same route. Same cracked vinyl seats. Same smell of...

The new hire only worked Fridays after nine. No one saw him clock in. Patrons mentioned a man who knew exactly which shelf held the book they needed — even when they couldn't remember the title. On his last night he reshelved a returned copy with a note tucked inside: "Thank you...

Grandmother's recipe box held index cards in three languages. The last card wasn't a recipe — it was the opening page of a novel she'd never finished. I wrote the second page that winter. The stain where her thumb rested became a birthmark on the protagonist's hand.