Short Emotional Realism Stories & Novels

The final race would decide everything: win, and I'd make the national team; lose, and I'd be kicked off the racing team. Twenty-eight years ago, my father was crippled by the same man. His spine was broken, and he never stood again. Two hours before the race, I saw him crouching beside my car with my own eyes. When I went over to check, I found the brake line had been cut and the brake fluid had been mixed with alcohol. The method was exactly the same. My father had waited in his wheelchair for twenty-eight years. I crouched down and stared at the severed brake line for a long time. Then I stood up, wiped away the fingerprints, and put on my helmet. I didn't report it. I didn't change cars. I didn't tell anyone. Because I wanted him to watch with his own eyes— To see how he'd be sent to hell by the "loser" he despised. The engines roared. The green light came on. I released the brake and floored the throttle. The moment I shot forward, I knew— This car's brakes wouldn't last past the seventh lap.

Everyone in college has gone home for winter break. A guy from the next class shares a photo in our group chat, bragging about his Christmas gift—ten thousand and one 100-dollar bills. The entire group chat goes wild. I jump on the bandwagon, sending a couple of envious memes before tapping on the photo to zoom in. Ten thousand and one consecutive bills. But my eyes lock onto the family portrait peeking out from the edge of the frame. The woman in the photo… is Mom? I dial her number immediately. "Hey Mom, what Christmas gift are you going to get me this year?" On the other end of the line, her laughter falters. Then she replies casually, "Same as always—200 dollars. It's just a formality anyway. Why do you ask?" I force a smile and tell her it's nothing. I hang up and immediately hail a cab to that guy's house.

My sister, Delilah Sorrell, and I are now in our third year of captivity after being trafficked into Northern Marovia. Her whereabouts are unknown—whether she is dead or alive, no one knows—while I am tortured until I am nothing but a living corpse. The rotting flesh on my body constantly gives off a stench, the old iron chains on my feet cut deep into my skin, and I even compete with pigs for food just to fill my stomach. I finally quit resisting after countless cries for help went unanswered. I become completely consumed by despair, with only one thought left in my mind—to die. Suddenly, I hear a fierce argument happening nearby, just as I swallow a handful of pills and wait for my life to fade away. "Bennett is your younger brother! You already ruined his bright future after the SAT just for the sake of an underprivileged student! Why are you still putting him through this torture?" Delilah, my missing sister, suddenly shows up, speaking in a rushed, irritated tone. "He knows perfectly well that I am always here to back him up and that his grades don't matter. He still deliberately went out of his way to beat Nathan's scores, triggering a relapse of Nathan's depression! "I'm merely punishing him to teach him some humility. I'll be bringing him home once Nathan graduates in a month, so this minor hardship means nothing." I finally realize the truth now. I have risked my life searching every inch of the compound and still can't find her. It turns out that from the very beginning, all of this is just her punishing me for the sake of Nathan Baker, that underprivileged student. I cough up a mouthful of blood as I laugh through my tears. "Your punishment for me is finally coming to an absolute end, Delilah. I won't be returning home with you ever again."

My father, Harlan Lowe, suffers from severe face blindness. To him, every woman in the world looks the same. 40 years ago, he was drugged by a business rival and spent one fateful night with the woman who would later become my mother. Unable to recognize her afterward, he mistakenly marries Mildred Roberts, the opportunistic woman who steals her place and claims the credit that is never hers. In time, Harlan and Mildred become one of the city's most celebrated power couples, admired by everyone. Meanwhile, my mother is left to bear the consequences alone. Pregnant and unmarried, she is branded a promiscuous woman, shunned by society, and never marries. Years of humiliation and loneliness eventually drive her into depression and lead her to take her own life. 40 years later, I am now a man who has built a life through brilliance and relentless determination. I end up marrying Bella Harrison, the beloved daughter of the wealthiest dynasty in the country. We share a loving marriage and a happy family. The peace ends the day my daughter, Josie Gardner, brings her boyfriend home. Seated at the head of the family table, I study the young man. Arrogant, confident, and unmistakably spoiled, he carries himself like someone who has never known hardship. I know immediately that he is Simon Lowe, the grandson of Harlan and Mildred. Looking at Simon's face, which bears an uncanny resemblance to Harlan's, I ignore the gift he offers me. "You want to marry my daughter? In your wildest dreams."

I suffer from a rare lung disease and depend on a ventilator to stay alive. My dad, Wesley Lowe, works three jobs and saves up enough money to replace my old machine with an imported one. The new ventilator is already relatively very quiet. Even so, my mom, Keira Sheeran, still thinks it's too noisy. She says the sound keeps waking her up at night and reminds her that I am like a bottomless pit. One day, my newborn baby brother, Jasper Lowe, won't stop crying. The doctor says newborns are sensitive to noise. Mom immediately breaks down. Her eyes are red with tears as she rushes over, points at me, and screams, "Can't you just die already? Your cousin can't afford to get married because of the burden you put on our family, and now your little brother can't even get a good night's sleep! "Can't you turn it off for just one night so the whole family can finally have some peace and quiet?" After saying that, she takes Jasper and goes back to her parents' house. I look at the "Happy Family" cross-stitch embroidery hanging on the wall. Slowly, I unplug the ventilator. "Mom, Dad, it's quiet now."

On the day of my college graduation, I had just signed a contract with a prestigious company when my dad burst into my room, grabbed the paper, and ripped it to shreds. "Why waste your time with a crappy $8,000-a-month job? You've already been hired by the world's top financial conglomerate! A base salary of $100,000 a month, plus a luxury penthouse the moment you start! What other young woman fresh out of college gets that kind of treatment?" I stared at the flimsy piece of paper in his hand. It was stamped with a cheap-looking plastic seal that read "Global Stellar Consortium". I shook with rage. "Dad, that’s just a fake image generated with AI. This company doesn't even exist!" My dad merely snorted and shoved his phone directly into my face. On his screen was a screenshot of a prompt he had fed into an AI chatbot. Prompt: [Issue an offer letter for my daughter from the world's number one corporation. Make sure it's the highest position possible.] AI: [Operation complete. Your daughter has been officially hired as the South American President of the Global Stellar Consortium.] My throat went dry as panic set in. I tried to reason with him. "Dad, the AI is just playing along with your prompt to write a fictional story! It's a chatbot; it doesn't actually recruit people!" He simply whipped out a $200,000 transfer receipt and waved it triumphantly in front of my eyes. "What do you know?" he sneered. "The AI is real! It even gave me the payment code to cover your mandatory Employment Security Deposit!"

My roommate, Andrew Hayes, has become obsessed with this viral tiramisu place off campus. Every night without fail, he brings a box of it back. He tries to sell us on it more than once. Supposedly the texture is silky and rich, and it melts in the mouth. I just can't be bothered to care. Everything changes on the day before the grad school recommendation list is posted. My pen is moving across the page of a paper when something at the edge of my vision suddenly catches my eye. A few lines of text have appeared. [Tonight, your roommate, Andrew, will ask you to help him buy tiramisu from that viral dessert shop. After he eats it, he'll rush out of the dorm. The next day, the police will take you away on charges of aggravated assault. [Online exposés will say you attacked your roommate out of jealousy, and the Internet will explode with outrage. Relentless cyberbullying will consume your life. Even your parents will get dragged down with you and lose their steady jobs. Ultimately, you'll be driven into a mental breakdown and die from depression.] I figure I've started hallucinating after finally cracking under the pressure, so I toss the workbook aside. That night, Andrew pushes open the dorm room door. His tone is easy and familiar as he asks, "Luke, grab me a tiramisu on your way back, okay?" My brain blanks for a second. This scene matches the prediction word for word. Andrew's smile is bright and sunny as he walks closer, but I only feel a chill down my spine because of one of the prediction's sentences. [After you're taken in for questioning, you'll miss your interview. The guaranteed grad school spot will fall right into Andrew's lap.] Is Andrew really going to ruin my entire life over a single guaranteed grad school slot? My grip tightens around my pen. I say, "Sorry, Andrew. It's not really convenient for me."

Every time my mom, Miranda Turner, comes over to clean my apartment, something goes missing. The first time it happens, a silk scarf I bought goes missing. Not long afterward, my younger sister, Sheryl Colson, gets a promotion and a raise after giving a scarf to her boss as a gift. I think it's just a coincidence. The second time, every premium apple I store in the refrigerator disappears. That very night, Sheryl posts photos on Instagram. She writes, "Thank you, Mom. You're the best. Authentic purple star apple! And eight of them!" I can't help asking about it. Mom hides herself underneath the covers and cries all night, insisting I've wrongfully accused her. Later, several bottles of mineral water labeled "Imported" mysteriously vanish from my apartment. Coincidentally, Sheryl, who's been trying to get pregnant for five years, finally conceives. She proudly tells everyone that even the water she drinks is flown in from overseas. This time, I shudder at the thought of how dire the situation may be. What's missing is imported water from Esithra. It is water from the Gorga River, where there have been corpses floating around. Anyone who drinks it is asking for trouble.

I'm scheduled to work overtime for all five days of the long Thanksgiving holiday weekend. However, I decide to just put up with it because I remember that I have a 200,000-dollar year-end bonus at stake. On the first day of overtime, the HR manager, Karen Beech, deducts 200 dollars from my pay, citing "lack of attention to personal image and affecting the company's overall reputation" as the reason. I look at my neatly pressed dress shirt and slacks and frown. "I've strictly followed the company's rules regarding my appearance. What's the problem?" Without saying another word, Karen grabs a cup of hot coffee and splashes it all over me. "Well, you've got a problem now." That day, an official message is pinned on the company's Slack channel. "Alex Sutherland violated our company's policy, affecting the company's overall reputation. Thus, he's fined 200 dollars." Nobody speaks up for me in the channel. That's because the newly appointed General Manager, Remy Lincoln, says that he wants to reduce costs and increase the company's efficiency, which would mean random layoffs. As a result, the entire office has been thrown into a state of panic, and everyone is looking out for themselves. As for me, I am the highest-paid employee in the company with a monthly salary of 10,000 dollars. On the second day of overtime, someone locks my front door from the outside, making me almost a minute late for work. When I reach the company, Karen writes me up for being tardy and fires me on the spot. I look at another sales associate behind her, Sandra Leach, who is pretending to be busy with work to avoid my gaze. She is the only person in the entire company who has ever been invited to my home. I refuse to leave without a fight and request to see the company chairman, Mr. Richard Lincoln. However, Karen scoffs disdainfully at me and says, "Don't think that you have any influence on the company's decisions just because you're a sales manager. "Mr. Remy Lincoln is Mr. Lincoln Senior's only son, which means his will is also the chairman's." She then glances at my chest and adds, "Did you seriously think that a woman with zero assets like you could even attempt to seduce the chairman into changing his mind? In your dreams!" I'm at a complete loss for words. For starters, I am a man, and Karen has to be completely blind not to notice that. And secondly, if Remy really were my dad's only son, then who am I supposed to be?

When my fiance, Evan Ziegler, and I wake up, the world as we know it has already ended. He's now the commander of the safe zone, and I'm clinging to his arm, pleading with him. "Don't send me out. There are infected people everywhere out there." However, he merely stands on a high platform. His expression is icy as he announces, "Resources are limited in the safe zone. Zoe is frail and has to stay. As for Daphne, she should be sent to the contaminated zone as bait since she doesn't have any abilities." I'm bound and stuffed into an armored truck. Right before the doors shut, Evan's first love, Zoe Lodge, gives me a gentle smile while nestled in his arms. She says, "Don't worry, Daph. I'll take good care of Evan for you." I lose all hope. Then, to my surprise, the satellite phone I've been carrying, which hasn't had any signal so far, suddenly lights up. It's a message from my brother, Dominic Sadler. "Daphne, how's the stay at our apocalypse experience center? Have you figured out what kind of man your fiance really is yet? Hurry up and give me the verdict. We hired over 3,000 extras, and they've been cooped up in the underground base for a month. They're about to lose their minds."

After the SAT, my daughter turned into something I didn't recognize. She repeatedly stabbed her grandmother, who had raised her, until the old woman bled to death. She pushed her little brother from the tenth floor and killed him on the spot. My wife and I tried to talk her down, our voices shaking, but she only laughed. "Grandma and Caleb were too good to me. That's why they had to die! And you two worked so hard to raise me. You paid for my education and gave me everything. You were too good to me, so you have to die!" Then she set us on fire. I closed my eyes in despair. When I opened them again, I was back one week before my daughter's SAT. This time, I installed a hidden camera in her bedroom. I didn't care what it took. I was going to find out why she killed us. When my wife and I watched the footage later, neither of us could say a word.

The day after my parents finally find me and bring me home—18 years after my abduction—they announce their bankruptcy and plunge into massive debt. Over the next two years, I'm forced to drop out of school and work three jobs a day to pay off the family debts. I even lose hearing in one ear after a brutal beating from a debt collector. Through it all, Mom and Dad hold me close in the middle of the night, weeping and apologizing for failing me. Foolishly, I believe them. I tell myself that as long as our family is together, I can endure anything. Desperate to hear again, I buy a used hearing aid on a secondhand goods platform for 9.90 dollars. The comments section congratulates me on snagging a rare steal. But the seller replies indifferently, "This is something my housekeeper doesn't want anymore. I'm just giving it away as charity." Swallowing my pride, I travel to a massive luxury villa to pick it up. After taking the hearing aid from the young woman, I bow my head in deep gratitude. But as I look up, my gaze catches Mom and Dad in the garden behind her. They were calling out to her, saying, "Stephy, hurry back after meeting with that peasant. And be careful not to get your hands filthy."

I walked into the Marxell Motors showroom with my girlfriend, Fleur Harper, and got straight to the point: I wanted to look at the SX. The salesman, Lenny Sloan, gave me a once-over, then acted like he hadn't heard a word. He pulled Fleur aside instead, all smiles. "You've got a great eye," he told her. "People are lining up just to put a deposit down on this one." I trailed along and cut in, frowning. "Can I take it for a test drive?" He didn't even look up. "This one's sixty-eight grand out the door. You sure you want to try it?" "I'm sure." He sighed like he was doing me a favor, then walked me around the car, dripping condescension the whole way. "A car to keep up appearances, sure, that's fine. Just don't get too full of yourself. It's seven hundred a month on the financing. You sure you can keep that up?" I kept my face flat and didn't answer. He leaned in and dropped his voice. "Real talk, man, what do you even do for work? Fresh out of school and already buying a luxury car?" I fired back with a question about the trim specs. He waved me off. "Not bad, you actually did your homework. But I already sent the details to your girl. Go hash it out with her." I swallowed my anger, finished negotiating the price, and put down the deposit. A week later, Fleur got a message: the dealership wanted her to come pick up the car. I called the dealership to ask what was going on. The man on the other end didn't bother hiding his contempt. "That deposit—who knows whose money that really was. You're wearing five-dollar canvas sneakers. No way you can afford an SX. Whoever's footing the bill gets the call to come pick it up. Problem?" No problem at all. After all, I was just a mystery shopper sent from corporate.

Three days after divorcing my ex-husband, Julian Hendricks, I receive a message from him. "Why haven't you wired your salary for this month to me yet?" I assume that he's pulling my leg and reply, "We're already divorced." "So what?" he retorts. "You're supposed to transfer 19,000 dollars out of your 20,000-dollar salary to me every month. You can spend the remaining 1,000 dollars however you want, just like before. "I took care of you when you weren't working in the past. How dare you stop giving me money just because we're divorced?" I stare at his messages in stunned silence. Throughout our three years of marriage, I give 19,000 dollars of my 20,000 dollar salary to Julian every month. Julian claims he's using the money to plan our overall household expenses, when in reality, he's using it to pay for his civil service exam, cover his meals with his friends, and treat his "study buddy" whom I've never even met. He scolds me when he catches me playing games after work, criticizing my lack of desire to improve myself even though I'm the one who cooks, cleans, and does the laundry. The audacity of this man. How dare he think that I'm still obligated to give him money when we're already divorced? The reason that Julian gives me is that he's worried that I'll spend my money frivolously. I block his number. Three seconds later, he calls me from a different number. "You'll regret this. This is the last time I'm ever helping you." I burst out laughing. Help me? No one has ever extended a helping hand to me in the last three years.

The day our SAT scores are released, my girlfriend, Alexis Jink, and I are on a train heading back home after a graduation trip. Samuel Yonder, my "younger brother" in name only, is also with us. Samuel loves sitting by the window, and Alexis immediately sits beside him, leaving me the odd one out—just like I have been for this entire trip. "Ethan, Samuel and I need to discuss what we'll be picking for our majors. Since you didn't score very high on the mock exam, just busy yourself with your phone while we talk," Alexis says. As the two chat and laugh happily, I find myself unable to join in at all. This is certainly not what I expected when Alexis promised me a graduation trip three years ago. The test scores are announced at ten on the dot. Samuel throws his arms around Alexis in an excited and joyful hug. "This is great! With our scores, we can pick any major we want at Jocaster University!" Alexis answers with a smile, "Quick, look at the group chat. Our parents are all congratulating us." From my seat behind them, I hear Dad and Mom say in a voice message, "Sam and Alexis, you two did wonderfully! We really are so proud of you!" Another voice message rings out, this time from Alexis' parents. Bowing my head, I check my phone, only to realize that I'm not in the same group as them, nor did anyone bother to ask how I fared. Forget it. Since they have already chosen their paths, then I should also focus on heading toward my own future.

Five years after my parents, Ian Smith and Sophia Wright, get divorced, I run into Dad at school. He has just finished attending a parent-teacher conference for his stepson, Eugene Moore, who ranks first in the grade, and he's beaming with pride. The moment he spots me, his expression instantly darkens. "Is this what you usually wear to school? Is this how your mother is raising you?" He hands me his business card, his tone dripping with condescension. "Here, take it. Tell your mother that if she's willing to swallow her pride and admit she was wrong, I'll transfer you into the international class right away. In any case, it's better than rotting away in the regular class." I don't take it. In fact, I simply take a step back. "That won't be necessary, Mr. Smith." His brows draw together, his eyes filled with disgust. "You really are just like your mother—a lost cause. From now on, don't tell anyone you're my daughter." I tighten my grip on the paper in my hand and calmly watch him leave. He has no idea that this isn't a report card. It's my withdrawal application, because since Mom died, there's no one left to pay my tuition.

My mother was beaten into the ICU, and I signed six critical-condition notices in one night. When I was at my lowest, my girlfriend disappeared without a trace. Only after my mother died did I stand in court as the plaintiff's attorney in her case. My girlfriend, gone for two months, appeared at the defense table. She was defending the man who killed my mother.

When I was seven years old, my parents burned my birth certificate right in front of me at the dinner table. Across from me, my younger sister, Abigail Parker, calmly cut into her steak without even looking up. Dad said that raising two children was just another investment, and every investment had to be cut loose before the losses became too big. I was the loss they chose to write off. They poured every advantage into Abigail while leaving me to grow up in a dark, damp basement. Twenty years later, my parents are old, and Abigail, whom they placed on a pedestal, has become the most ruthless creditor they've ever faced. Standing in the dust-covered family home, I unfold a yellowed document titled Family Asset Divestment Agreement and can't help but laugh. This time, I'm the one settling the accounts.

My wife was in a car accident and barely clinging to life, but I calmly stood outside the operating room listening to a sales agent introduce a new apartment to me. The doctor, covered in blood, came up to me. "The patient was impaled by a hard object in her lower body. There are two options. We can remove her uterus immediately, or we can try to preserve the organ, but that will require extremely precise equipment and the cost will be very high. "Please decide quickly. She doesn't have much time." I answered impatiently, "Then remove it. Don't waste the effort." When my mother-in-law heard that, she broke down in front of me, wailing. "Jason, I'm begging you. Use the money to save my daughter. If they remove it, how is she supposed to hold her head up for the rest of her life?" My father-in-law pleaded through tears too. "She's your wife. Can you really bear to watch her lose the chance to be a mother? Aren't you going to think about your own future?" I quickly stepped back and said, "If you want to save her, pay for it yourselves. I don't have any money." "Didn't we give all our money to you two? Take out the four hundred fifty thousand dollars you saved to buy a house and save her first!" My voice shot up instantly. "What? Spend four hundred fifty thousand dollars to save a piece of rotten meat? Are you kidding me?" As I spoke, I tossed my card to the sales agent and paid in full on the spot for the new apartment I had just chosen.

When I start middle school, Dad quits his job to become my full-time study coach. He devotes every ounce of energy to monitoring my academics and refuses to let a single distraction near me. My best friend in middle school has average grades, so Dad goes straight to his parents for a talk. "My son is going to a top school. Don't let your kid's low IQ rub off on him." I lose my closest friend after that, and the rest of my classmates start keeping their distance too. In high school, the class rep asks me a math question one day, and Dad sees it happen. Without a word, he slaps her across the face. "Already flirting with boys at your age? I'll have the principal expel you! "Just asking a question? My son's study time is precious. If you're too stupid to figure it out, hire a tutor!" After that, I have no social life left at all. I finally get into a top university out of state. Dad even agrees to let me live in the dorms. I think this is my chance to break free. But on move-in day, he shows up at the campus gate, suitcases in hand. "Let's go, Tyler! I thought it over and decided to move here with you!"