Short Emotional Realism Stories & Novels

My younger brother, Samuel, gave me a call and asked me to go to his university. However, his unusually serious tone took me aback. I rushed over to his counselling office, only to see him, his fellow counselors, and a female junior whom I had coincidentally helped in the last semester. The female junior, Sally, was covering her slightly protruding belly. She abruptly dropped to her knees before me in front of the counselors. “Honey, I know this unexpected pregnancy has put a lot of pressure on you. But you can’t just abandon me and our baby!” she choked back with tears. Then, she reached out to grab the hem of my clothes. However, I stepped back and left. Sally’s cries turned sharp and shrill. “You heartless jerk! How could you behave like this?! If I’d known that you’d pretend not to know me the second it was over, I would’ve never gone to a hotel with you!” One of the counselors looked furious, and he seemed furious beyond measure. “Kid, being young is no excuse. A man needs to take responsibility!” A crowd began to gather outside the office. Their pointing fingers and contemptuous stares nearly overwhelmed me. In the middle of the chaos, Samuel casually leaned against the wall and spoke with a drawl. “Chris, aren’t you going to stay and see your unborn baby?”

Even though the prettiest girl in my class, Phoebe Jones, bombed her college entrance exams, she claimed she had gotten into the prestigious Pemberton University and was just waiting for orientation day. She even guaranteed she could get the whole class in, too. Everyone erupted in cheers, put her up on the class podium, and lined up to hand over their applications. Something did not sit right with me, so I asked a few questions. Her 'exclusive enrolment channel' turned out to just be an AI chatbot called Babble. Babble had promised her it had reserved exclusive spots at Pemberton and guaranteed she would be registered by the start of the term. I tried to warn everyone that it was just an AI telling her what she wanted to hear, but my childhood friend was the first to jump to her defense. "Maren, how could you think that about Phoebe? She's doing this for the whole class. What's your problem?" My best friend added, "Maren, AI is the way of the future. You can't just dismiss it because you don't get it." That was all it took to turn the whole class against me. They pushed me around until I tumbled down the stairs, cracked my head open, and died on the spot. When I opened my eyes, I was back at the moment Phoebe announced she had gotten into Pemberton. I could not save people who were hell-bent on their own destruction, so this time, I wished them nothing but the best.

I am born lucky. One can say I'm a money magnet. I'd even win a car when buying a can of soda. The company relies on the numbers I pick to win bids. We go from the brink of bankruptcy to the third-largest company in the city. Then, during a business trip, I casually buy a lottery ticket and win 3,000 dollars. The newly hired finance manager, Owen Pearson, immediately demands that I turn over the entire prize. When I explain that I bought the ticket with my own money, he flies into a rage. "Any profit generated during working hours belongs to the company! Who do you think you are? How dare you refuse to follow company policy? If you win three million dollars after work, that's your business. But if you win three dollars during work hours, that's company property!" I can't be bothered to argue with him, so I call the CEO's fiancée, Macy Sanford. To my surprise, she agrees with him. "He has a point. If the company hadn't paid for your business trip, you wouldn't have had the opportunity to win the lottery in the first place." Owen is even more smug as he orders, "Just hand over the money. The 3,000 dollars will be deducted from your paycheck, and we'll deduct another 30 thousand dollars as a penalty for embezzling company funds. That should teach you a lesson." I tighten my grip on the lottery ticket and say nothing more. One week later, the company participates in the biggest bidding project of the year. Everyone turns to look at me, expecting me to provide the winning numbers. I simply smile and say, "Sorry. I've already resigned. I have no obligation to fill out the bid proposal anymore."

My coworker, Kevin Walter, invited me to join a private messaging chat group of rich women. There are plenty of perks, such as the 300-dollar cash gift he claimed right in front of me. I joined the group out of curiosity and got to know a wealthy woman named Ms. White. After some time together, she invited me on a vacation to a famous tourist city near the country's border. Little did I know, I was close enough to being dragged into a dangerous area abroad to become a live organ donor.

At the company team-building event, I got called out by my colleague Samantha Rowler for not removing my price tag—she accused me of being a "freebie chaser." "Oh wow, Carla, you drive a BMW 5 Series. Are you seriously planning to return your clothes within seven days too?" she sneered. I tucked the tag back in and ignored her snide remark. But after the event, as soon as I got home, my phone started blowing up. My chat apps were going insane. A friend had sent me a link: [Luxury-Car Executive Turns Out to Be a Return Addict!] Someone had filmed me leaving the price tag on and posted it to a short-video platform. I opened the comment section and was met with a barrage of insults. [Can't afford to live, huh? Tag warrior.] [Is this car a sugar-daddy gift? Those who know, know.] [OMG, does this woman have some kind of illness? Which brand is this so I can avoid it!] I immediately knew Samantha was behind it. I messaged her to delete the video. Instead, the next second, she blocked me—and pinned a comment to the top of the thread: [You can know a person's face but never their heart!] I was about to post a statement to clarify, my finger hovering over the send button, when I noticed the video's likes had already shot past ten thousand. I laughed. If they wanted a scene, fine—let's make it bigger. I quickly posted a new update: [The outfit is really nice. I'll wear it again next time.] The netizens erupted. The insults doubled, the heat skyrocketed, and the post shot straight to number one trending. I just put my phone down and went to sleep.

After half a month of nonstop overtime, I secured a contract worth over ten million, pulling the company back from the brink of collapse. My boss, Richard Gray, was overjoyed. At the celebration party, he called me the pillar of the company and announced that he would reward me with a bonus. However, when the end of the month came, and I opened my payslip, I froze. Negative 250 dollars. A negative commission? I actually owed the company 250 dollars? I immediately called the finance department, asking if there was a mistake on my payslip. They replied, "No mistake. This is the cost calculation formula that Mr. Gray personally instructed us to use. He said you'd understand once you saw it." I went straight to Richard for an explanation. He laughed. "The contract that you signed, after factoring in the concessions, upfront resources, and hidden expenses, left the company with a net loss of 150 thousand. Since the loss was due to your personal decisions, you're responsible for five percent. That totals to 7500. "Considering how hard you worked, we deducted it from your base salary first. But your salary wasn't enough, so you still owe the company 250. Don't worry. The company treats its employees well. We'll write that off." Soon after, he awarded 100 thousand dollars to the newly arrived intern. I watched the newcomer, probably connected to Richard, cheerfully treat the entire company to dinner with her bonus, and something inside me just snapped. From that day onward, I did the bare minimum. I clocked in. I clocked out. Nothing more. Later, when a critical project went catastrophically wrong and the company faced a colossal compensation demand, Richard came begging me to fix it. I just smiled and said, "Sorry, Mr. Gray. I've already resigned. If there are any problems, you can ask the intern who got the 100 thousand dollar bonus to handle it."

I accidentally come across a post made by my mom's smurf account on the Internet. "Is it too cheap for me to prepare just a set of gold bars as a coming-of-age gift for my daughter?" My heart skips a beat. My parents are known for being extremely stingy. To think that they are willing to spend this much on me! I'm worried that my parents might overwork themselves just to prepare such a lucrative gift, so I take a screenshot and save the link to a three-year vacation tour that's priced at 999 dollars. Then, I decide to respond to the post as an anonymous user. "Your daughter will feel very happy as long as she receives her parents' love. No materialistic gift can ever outshine that." Five minutes later, Mom responds to me, "Thank you for your suggestion, but I've already taken my darling on a graduation trip in Enora last week. She had so much fun there."

I check on family businesses in the countryside with my girlfriend, Mildred McClure, in tow. At noon, we stop by my uncle, Barron Cortez's, place for a simple lunch. Just as we are getting ready to leave, his new wife, whom he married just six months ago, Hilda Ross, rushes out and demands that we settle the bill. "Elden, you two just had the Supreme Farmhouse Set Meal, which is 1,888.80 dollars, and your girlfriend picked three organic, pesticide-free tomatoes in the garden. That's 199.80 dollars. "With an 80% service charge, your total comes to 3,800 dollars." Mildred is stunned. "Elden, do we have to pay to eat at your uncle's place?" I start to feel embarrassed, and my expression darkens as I look at Hilda, my supposed aunt, who's barely any older than me. "I've grown up eating at my uncle's place and never paid a single penny. Besides, your prices are downright outrageous!" Hilda calmly whips out a price menu and righteously declares, "That's all ancient history. Now, we're running a farmhouse business where all prices are clearly marked, so everyone pays the same rate. "Barron said you're some big boss in the city. Surely you're not going to stiff us over a little bill, are you?" She steps in front of the gate to block the exit with her body and shoots me a contemptuous look. "Even family settles their accounts. If you don't pay up today, don't even dream about stepping through this door!" While Mildred panics, I laugh in disbelief before taking out my phone and dialing Barron's number. "Uncle Barron, Hilda wants to settle accounts between family, so don't you think it's time we settled our accounts too?"

On New Year's Eve, my girlfriend of three years, Gina Jarrey, invited me to her place for dinner with her family. Before I could even take a bite, she drugged me and left me half-conscious. She mumbled, "If we don't pay them back, they're going to cut off my brother's hand. I had no other choice but to hand you over. Don't blame me for this. You're just unlucky for having a face identical to the man Ms. Carmelia Sanders is obsessed with. Once my brother's gambling debts are cleared, you might even end up living the high life. It's a win-win!" My mind drifted in and out as her entire family handed me over and sent me to a mansion that looked eerily familiar. First of all, unless I was mistaken, this place belonged to my aunt. Second, she had an extreme brother complex and had never liked any man other than Dad. And finally, years ago, a distant relative of mine got sent off to work in the mines in Frongo just for rolling his eyes at Dad. So really, who was the unlucky one getting delivered to my aunt's doorstep? Oh my, what a tough mystery to solve.

My girlfriend Chloe Bennett's childhood buddy, Daniel Miller, binds himself to a transfer system. Everything he eats gets sent straight into my stomach. He creates a live stream channel and eats nonstop for 12 hours a day to rake in money. Meanwhile, I end up in the ER with acute pancreatitis. I try to explain everything to Chloe, but she just looks at me like I've lost my mind. "How could something that ridiculous exist? If food could magically transfer, nobody would starve in the world. You're just jealous he's making money from streaming." Afterward, Daniel's every live stream triggers another pancreatitis episode, sending me back to the ER until I'm barely holding on. I get tested, but the doctors can't figure out what's wrong. They even want to admit me to psych. Later, in a desperate bid to outdo another streamer, Daniel downs ten pounds of mashed potatoes at once. The overload destroys my spleen and stomach, causing massive internal bleeding that kills me. When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day of Daniel's very first live stream. This time, I rush out and order 20 takeout dishes before him. "This time, I'm eating first."

My friend introduced me to an online card game. I won 150 thousand dollars in only one night. The hot female dealer contacted me privately. “Mister, you can give me a video call when you top up to a certain amount. Plus, there’s an extra benefit. You can do whatever you want with me.”

At my wedding, my wife’s bodyguard was wearing the same suit as me. He was standing to one side. When I was saying my vows, he suddenly stepped forward and slapped me. I covered my face and looked at my wife, Amelie. She looked calm, as if she knew this would happen. Seeing that she was not reacting, the bodyguard smirked and slapped me again. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. The guests below the stage were flabbergasted, even as rage burned within me. “Call the police!” “You can’t call the police!” Amelie finally said. My parents also suddenly shouted, “No one is allowed to call the police. Anyone who does would be opposing the Bennet family!”

I got a security job in an upscale neighborhood.  One day, I got a call from a resident.  “I think there’s been a break-in.”  I rushed to the scene. Instead of an intruder, I was greeted by a beautiful woman in barely anything.  She held me and pleaded, “I’m scared. Can you stay with me?”

When my ex-husband, Hanson Rowse, got remarried, I jumped into the ocean with our ten-year-old daughter, Tess Rowse, in my arms. The police called Hanson and my parents. The wedding reception was cut short, and they all rushed over. My soul hung in the air above it all, watching as Tess was pulled from the water. The sight of her hit like a blade to the chest. At the hospital, my parents looked at her with nothing but cold indifference. My brother, Edward Wells, didn't hesitate. He stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face. "You're just like your mother! Always causing trouble and pulling cheap stunts like this just to get attention." Hanson's fists clenched. He scanned the area, and when he couldn't see me anywhere, anger spilled into his eyes. "Where's Melody? She picked my wedding day to pull this stunt, and now she won't even show her face? If she really wanted to die, why leave behind this burden?" At his words, Tess suddenly moved. She stumbled toward the window, climbed up, and before anyone could react, she jumped. The room went dead silent for a heartbeat. Then, the screaming started. What they didn't know was this: the first thing Tess and I learned at that reform school was obedience.

My boyfriend's childhood friend declared herself the ultimate 'socialite fraud buster' the very first time we met. She would not stop lecturing me at the dinner table. "Women really shouldn't overdress. If Sean hadn't told me himself that you were his girlfriend, I would've written you off as just another one of those fake socialites I've exposed." My boyfriend nodded along eagerly. "You really do dress too flashy. Just listen to Gina and tone it down a little." I could not be bothered to engage, so I excused myself to the restroom, but I ended up overhearing Georgina Lawson's little 'fraud assessment' from right outside the door. "Sean, this woman's walk, the way she talks… All of it screams training. She's a classic case of a fake socialite. She's only with you for your money! That watch, the limited-edition bag, that sports car worth tens of millions... What doctor could possibly afford all that?" Fury burned through me, and I finally reached my limit. I turned around and called my father, the richest man in the city. "Dad, wire me 50 million dollars. I'm buying out a little fraud-busting studio that targets 'fake socialities' to teach her that rich people have children too!"

Stanley Porter, my wife Jessica Evans’ close male friend, and I are both competing to be the next fire captain. In my first lifetime, I was chosen by a unanimous vote. On my very first night on duty as captain, Jessica came over to the fire station to celebrate with me. Sticking to my duties as captain, I didn't touch a single drop of alcohol. Yet, after drinking the chicken soup Jessica gave me, I fell into a deep sleep. That night, a massive fire broke out in the old district, resulting in the deaths of 58 people. Because I missed the station's alarm, I was accused of dereliction of duty and labeled as the main person responsible for the tragedy. The enraged families of the victims ended up beating me to death. In my second lifetime, I withdrew my name from the selection for captain. I handed the badge over to Stanley instead, saying, "You're better suited to be captain than I am." I'd assumed that this was enough to ensure that the fire couldn't be pinned on me. Yet, when the authorities looked into the fire, they ended up seeing me appear in the security footage from where the fire began. Everyone assumed I'd deliberately started the fire to get back at Stanley out of jealousy for losing out on the captain position. I now open my eyes again to live my third life. I watch as Stanley excitedly gives his speech on the podium after being made the captain. This time around, I submit a request for annual leave and take a cab straight to the airport.

Ever since my mom gave birth to her second child, everything in the household is tied to drawing lots. Everyone has to draw lots in order to decide whose favorite food will be served for each meal. We have to draw lots to see who among us gets a hug from our parents. Every time, I end up drawing the short end of the stick, so everyone automatically assumes that my younger sister, Anabelle Madden, gets the better lot. She easily reaps my parents' love without having to do anything at all. Whenever I feel like crying because of the injustice, Mom will scold me instantly. "I bought the lottery box because I was worried that you might feel upset about this. I'm doing this just to be fair to both of you. "If you want something, you have to be the one deciding who gets what. Your father and I won't interfere with your decision at all. Since you can't draw the better lot, that just means you have bad luck." Hence, I keep practicing my lot-drawing skills every day, hoping that I can eventually draw the better lot in order to obtain my parents' love. But for ten years, I never get to draw the better lot. Not even once. On my birthday, Anabelle wants to go to the amusement park, so Mom tells us to draw lots once again. I secretly glue two short lots together before giving it to Mom in an attempt to get her to stay with me. Instead, she slaps me and berates me for being a disobedient child who cheats in lot-drawing. Then, she leaves the house with Anabelle. When I fall to the floor, I feel the short sticks piercing through my neck.

At the award-giving ceremony of the end-of-the-year gala, my boss, George White, suddenly announces that he will be adding a bonus round on a whim. "This is the annual department evaluation! The department that comes last shall come onto the stage and receive a tiny encouragement from me!" The huge screen lights up at that moment. The sales achievements accumulated by all departments are being shown in a ranking system. The sales department is ranked first. The operations department comes second, and the marketing department gets third place. As for the administrative department, the sales achievements shown on the screen are none. After all, that department has no KPI to achieve at all. George beams at us from the administrative department. "Everyone from the administrative department, come on up and receive your prize!" Two people can be seen carrying a basket of brooms up the stage. Everyone bursts into laughter instantly. "Come now, sweep away your bad luck with the brooms! Try not to come up as the bottom-ranked department again next year!" George personally thrusts the brooms into our hands. Camera flashes go off beneath the stage—people are clearly taking photos of us. The people from the sales department are the ones laughing the hardest. "Finally, the peeps from the administrative department are getting the recognition they deserve!"

It was almost New Year. I had just withdrawn money from the bank when I noticed that the amount on my passbook didn't match the cash in my hand. I counted carefully—my passbook showed a different figure than the five thousand dollars I was holding. Frustrated, I turned and went back to the counter to find the teller who had handled my transaction. Clutching the receipt, I tried to be polite. "Excuse me, I think there might be a mistake with this transaction." Instantly, she snapped, pointing her finger at my nose. "Don't you know that once you leave the counter, we are not responsible for any discrepancies?" I waved my hands, trying to explain. "No, wait, look again. I clearly withdrew five thousand dollars, but on my passbook, it shows…" She cut me off impatiently. "When you filled out the form, it was all right there. Once you leave the counter, it's not our problem. You signed the form yourself, confirming everything. Are we supposed to correct it every time someone claims a mistake after leaving the bank?" I froze. No wonder she kept repeating that the bank isn't responsible after leaving the counter. She thought I had come back to ask for more money. What I was really trying to explain was simple: I withdrew five thousand, yet my passbook showed that I deposited five thousand.

My mom is 71 years old. Thanks to her arthritis acting up, she's in so much pain that she can't descend the stairs at all. She tentatively calls me and asks if she can rent an apartment that comes with an elevator of its own. But my wife, Lucy Glaser, brings out the household ledger and points at the red numbers on the pages. "Last month, you bought yourself a tie, which is 300 dollars beyond our monthly budget. Yet now you're planning on adding another impulsive expense?" Only then do I realize that I don't even have the freedom to buy myself a tie despite earning an annual salary of tens of millions of dollars. My mom is still trying to explain herself in a humble tone over the phone. "Oh, please don't feel troubled about it, Caleb. I was just asking on a whim. I've already grown used to my old home anyway…" After I end the call, I feel rather stuffy in my chest. What's there for me to feel troubled about? After all, I'm a partner of a top-tier law firm who earns tens of millions of dollars every year. The one who keeps standing in my way is Lucy, who's only a mid-level lawyer yet insists on controlling my finances. She also calls herself the best candidate for the household asset allocation.