Face Slapping Imagination Short Stories & Novels

An ambulance rushed in during my night shift, carrying a pregnant woman in critical condition due to severe bleeding. I was about to head into the operating room when I suddenly saw a stream of comments appearing in front of me. "Don't go in there! That pregnant woman is your wife. She had sex with her side dude in the wilderness, and that's what caused the bleeding!" "Your wife is even planning to fake her death and run away with him. She's also setting you up for medical malpractice so you'll end up in prison!" "That baby isn't even yours. And your in-laws are already on their way with the police to arrest you!" After reading those comments, my expression turned dark. At that same moment, I heard the nurse urgently calling me to hurry.

I understood babies. The baby in Room 403 cried out, "My butt itches! It is not a stomachache!" A newborn in the ER screamed, "Something is stuck under my belly button!" A preemie babbled softly, "I want my mommy..." None of that prepared me for that day. Dr. Margot Aldrich, the country's foremost authority in pediatrics, stood before a packed auditorium and examined a baby who had screamed himself purple. "We will keep observing." The mother fell to her knees. "Please, my baby is dying..." Margot let out a short laugh. "Am I the expert here, or are you?" The room went silent. In my ears, a tiny voice raged. "Are you grown-ups blind? Something is stuck under my belly button! It is not a stomachache! Somebody cut me open already!" I did not stop to think. I pushed through the crowd, dropped beside the crib, and looked Margot in the eye. "Dr. Aldrich, let me try."

On my wedding anniversary, my three-year-old son gave me an alpaca as a gift. I turned right around and shipped it off to the circus, where I found it a strapping alpaca husband. All because I'd been reborn. In my last life, that alpaca was sweet and gentle with everyone—except me. Every single day, it spat on me. Determined not to disappoint my son, I tried everything to win it over, but nothing worked. My mind unraveled. I stopped sleeping. I started hearing things that weren't there, and every night I dreamed of that alpaca chasing me down to spit in my face. My husband called me vicious. My son called me petty. And the two of them only grew closer to that alpaca by the day. Worn down and broken, I swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills and ended it. Floating above my own body after death, I watched in shock as it stood back up on its own. My son ran sobbing into "my" arms. "Mom, you're finally not an alpaca anymore!" My husband smiled and pulled them both into an embrace. "Nadia, you've been through so much. If it weren't for needing a healthy body to move your soul into, you'd never have had to suffer inside that alpaca for two years." That was when I finally understood. That alpaca had been Nadia Salem all along—the sickly impostor who'd stolen my identity for over twenty years.

Everyone said Finley Floyd was a total family man. His dad had been dead for twenty years, and he still found him a wife. Then he started calling me—someone two years younger than him—"Mommy." Yeah. My hand slipped. I accidentally assigned the affection points to the wrong role. And somehow, Finley really believed I was his mother. When I told him—again—that I wasn't his mom, he snapped. He yanked me into his arms and buried his face against me. "You are Mommy!"

Father is a seven-tailed white fox, and Mother is a five-tailed flame fox. By all logic, with those two rolling the genetic dice, the worst child they could get should be a six-tailed fox. But Mother has given birth nine times, and each baby is a single-tailed earth fox. The two of them think their cultivation simply isn't strong enough, so they train even harder. The truth is, every child Mother has given birth to is a nine-tailed fox. It's just that Father's subordinate, Oscar Brown, switches them at birth and strangles them to death. I'm the unlucky idiot who's died nine times. By the tenth time, I cry and scream that I'm done. The Heavenly Way is so sick of me kicking up a fuss that they say they'll help me solve the problem. I expect them to just strike Oscar and those fox cubs with divine lightning. Instead, they grant Father the ability to perfectly comprehend baby language. When I open my eyes again, Mother is crying to Father while holding a scrawny, dark-furred earth fox. "Darling, it's all my fault. Our child only has one tail again." Meanwhile, Oscar has hidden me in his sleeve. He's about to take me away to be disposed of. In my panic, I shout in my mind, [Father, save me! Your subordinate switched me! I'm in his sleeve!] Father, who is gently comforting Mother, freezes. He looks toward Oscar, who looks shifty, and says, "Stop right there. What's that in your sleeve?"

I am a real estate agent. For the past three years, I have been the top seller in the industry. It is not because I am a smooth talker; it is because I can hear houses speak. The houses will chatter about a hollow wall, a leaking pipe, or a window with a bad seal. During move-out inspections, I point out exactly what tenants try to hide. When showing a place to renters, I warn them about hidden red flags. I have been doing this so long that both sides treat me like family. Then, one Friday, a regular client, Eleanor Wilson, shows up. "Devan, the tenants at the Eastmere place are moving out." Eleanor is in her 60s. Her husband is long gone, and she lives off the rental income. She is a sweet soul. She charges 20% below market rate and even makes cookies for her tenants during the holidays. The couple moving out this time is Henry Johnson and his wife. They run a fruit stand at the local market and have a six-year-old daughter, Lea Johnson. "Lea is missing," Eleanor says, her eyes welling with tears. "She vanished outside the market last month. Just like that, in the blink of an eye. Henry and his wife have been searching for a month. They're worn out and broke. They just can't take it anymore." A heaviness settles in my chest at her words. I grab the keys and head out with her. Eleanor gasps for air with every flight of stairs we climb. I walk ahead of her. The moment I slide the key into the lock of Apartment 602, the doorknob vibrates violently against my palm. A second later, I dial 911. "I want to report a case of murder. There's a hidden body on the sixth floor of 18 Montclair Heights, Eastmere. The victim is their daughter."

My best friend, Summer Cortez, is a self-proclaimed independent woman who constantly talks about how much she hates men. Some time ago, she showed up with a heavily pregnant belly and claimed that she'd undergone IVF overseas because she wanted to be a single mother by choice. Today's the day she's discharged from the postpartum retreat. My boyfriend, Adrian Haynes, fusses over her every step of the way, even stocking up on the most expensive baby diapers in advance. He wipes the sweat from his forehead, trying to appease me. "Summer's had it tough. As your boyfriend, it's only right that I help to take care of your best friend." Summer reclines against the headboard, a haughty expression on her face. "If it weren't for Sylvia's sake, I'd never have let a stinking man lay a finger on my baby." I simply smile in return. I'm just about to hand her the generous gift I've prepared for the baby, Noah Cortez's one-month celebration, when Noah blows a raspberry and lets out a tiny coo in the cradle. To everyone else, it's just meaningless baby babble. But to my ears, which had just undergone surgery after a car accident, it turns into a childish voice of complaint. [Daddy's such a good actor. Just last night, he was hugging and kissing Mommy in the bathroom.] The smile on my face instantly freezes. I look up at Adrian, only to find him staring at Summer with unmistakable affection. A cold laugh escapes my lips as I slip the check back into my bag. "On second thought, I had Adrian buy the gifts. Since you're so repulsed by men, I'm sure you wouldn't accept gifts that have been bought by one."

I'm a man of principle who doesn't curse someone else without good reason. Even if I do curse them, the curse is only active for three days. In elementary school, my seatmate steals my eraser. When I flippantly tell him that he'll slip and fall in the next three days, he falls into a cesspool on the third day. The class representative accuses me of cheating during an exam during middle school. When I say that the entire school will learn something humiliating about him in the next three days, his love letter to another female student is pasted on the notice board. A bully kicks my desk during high school. When I tell him that his family will fall to ruins in the next three days, his father is arrested for embezzlement on the third day. When my boss, Frank Gordon, refuses to pay me after forcing me to work overtime, I calmly say, "You'll become bankrupt in the next three days." Frank scoffs indignantly before he grabs my resignation letter and tears it to pieces. "Get out of my sight! Either you continue working, or you can kiss your salary for this month goodbye!" He scatters the shredded paper over my head and continues, "I'm curious to see what will happen in the next three days. Will my company fall? Or will you starve to death first?" I lick my lips and say, "You must pay me within the next three days, Mr. Gordon—" However, Frank kicks me out of his office before I can finish my sentence.

My husband, Brody Singer, is the deputy director of a hospital and is known for being level-headed. He is so levelheaded that on the very day I miscarry, he still chooses to take Isabelle Wood, his late rescuer's widow, to look at cemetery plots first. He says, "She's been dreaming about David a lot lately, and it's making her uneasy. You have nurses over there. I'll be right back." Lying in my hospital bed, I open the location he sends me. It's an upscale cemetery with a double burial plot. The permanent maintenance fee costs 18,000 dollars. I text him back, "Nice choice. The grave is located in a bustling commercial district." He doesn't reply, but the comments floating before my eyes start answering for him. "Don't be so sarcastic. He just thinks his rescuer died too young and feels sorry that his widow has to spend the rest of her life alone." "He only married Roxanne out of convenience. Isabelle is his true soulmate and the one he secretly loves with all his heart." "Later, he'll make Roxanne sign papers to sell their home, saying the money is for Isabelle's retirement. The reason he gives is that they are still young and can easily earn money again." As the nurse hooks me up to an IV, I feel a chill on the back of my hand. I think of my wedding ring. Back then, Brody told me doctors shouldn't wear anything too expensive because it gets in the way during surgery. So my ring costs a mere 2,900 dollars. Today, he swipes his card and pays 18,000 dollars without hesitation when Isabelle says she wants to buy burial plots. I tuck the IV tubing closer beneath my sleeve and send my lawyer a message. "Draft a divorce agreement for me. Also, look into my husband's hotel records and spending history." After sending it, I quickly follow up with another text. "Move fast. He's in a hurry to repay his debt of gratitude, and he's burning through money pretty quickly."

Six months into my pregnancy, I heard my baby's cry for help. 'Mommy, save me. Please, do the C-section early. I have a congenital breathing condition. If you don't get me out now, I'll suffocate.' I listened to my baby's desperate pleading, gritted my teeth, and agreed to an early cesarean. In the end, my daughter and I both died. Right before I went, I heard the doctor say, with real regret, that the baby had been perfectly healthy. There'd been nothing wrong with her at all. When I opened my eyes again, I was pregnant once more, and once again I heard my baby crying for help. Only this time, another voice answered—soft and sweet, like a much younger child. 'Mommy, don't believe that voice. They want you to deliver early so they can give my umbilical cord blood to his illegitimate son. That boy has a blood disease, and without cord blood this month, he'll die. That's the only reason that lowlife husband of yours is so desperate to rush you into labor.'

I'm a half-baked forensic examiner whose only redeeming quality is the ability to understand animals. The crime scene is inside a lavish villa. The lady of the house lies dead on the floor with a blunt-force injury to the back of her head so deep that her bone is visible. The safe has been pried open, and a million dollars in cash has vanished without a trace. Clear shoe prints mark the backyard wall, evidence that someone has climbed over it. "This one's clear as day. This is a textbook robbery-homicide. The suspect is likely a young male, around six feet tall, has a prior theft record, and knows how to cover his tracks. Check the surveillance footage in the area and look into places where he might've moved the stolen cash." The director of the forensic science center, Egbert Woodward, has been in the profession for three decades and is a widely respected authority. The officers at the scene nod in unison and begin taking notes. I'm the only one who stares at the 30 flies circling the ceiling for a full 3 minutes before taking a step forward and piping up, "Dr. Woodward, this isn't a robbery-homicide. It's a crime of passion. The murderer is the victim's husband!"

After toiling in the underworld for three hundred years, I finally earned enough merit to be reincarnated. Then the King of Hell got drunk. Instead of sending me back as a human, he accidentally dropped me into the animal realm, where I was reborn as a plump orange cat belonging to the Sterlings, one of the wealthiest families in Evermont. Feeling guilty, the King of Hell compensated me with a hundred-year lifespan and one bizarre bonus: I could understand babies. Since I was stuck there anyway, I embraced the easy life, growing up alongside Victoria Sterling, the Sterlings' spoiled young heiress. Over the years, she became my devoted meal ticket, and I became an irreplaceable member of her family. On the day she gave birth, I lounged outside the delivery room, happily crunching on my imported freeze-dried treats. A panicked baby voice suddenly echoed in my head. [Waaah! I don't want them to take me away! My scumbag father is swapping me with his illegitimate daughter!] [I don't want to end up in an orphanage! I don't want to leave Mommy!] Before I could process that, another baby's voice rang out sinisterly. [Once I become the real heiress, the first thing I'll do is poison that woman and that fat cat.] I froze mid-bite. Every hair on my body stood on end. [Meow. You really picked the wrong cat to mess with.] [Anyone who dares lay a finger on the girl I raised is about to learn a very painful lesson.] With one powerful kick of my hind legs, I launched myself like a furry cannonball straight toward the delivery room.

The day before the SAT, strange comments suddenly appear before my eyes. "In a while, your childhood friend, Savannah Dunham, will come to you complaining about a stomachache. She will ask you to accompany her to the restroom. "She'll give birth there, then accuse you of being the baby's father. Since you'll be at the scene and she'll personally identify you as the father of the baby, the police will arrest you on the spot. By the time the truth comes out, you'll have already missed the SAT." The very next moment, Savannah clutches her stomach and grabs my arm. "Benny, my stomach hurts. Can you come to the restroom with me?" Every word she says and every move she makes matches the comments exactly. Then, another comment appears. "Her boyfriend is Michael Crowley, the one who always comes second. If you miss the SAT, Michael will become the top scorer this year." I shake off Savannah's hand immediately. "I'm sorry. Ms. Kirkland asked to see me. She said there's a problem with my exam admission pass. You'll have to go by yourself."

After my parents have passed away, I drop out of school and spend the next ten years working my butt off so that I can put my younger sister, Delilah Scott, through school. When Delilah scores a total of 1550 on her SATs, I can't help but shed happy tears for her. After holding a grand celebratory party, I see live comments streaking in front of my eyes all of a sudden. "I'm so excited! Today, Lils will be spending her first night with Doug!" The sight of the first comment leaves me stunned. At first, I think I'm just seeing things. But the second comment soon flashes in front of me. "This is all Lils' fault for getting into a fight with Doug right before their SATs! Doug got mad at her and ended up scribbling her name all over his exam papers, causing him to score a big fat zero on everything! Poor Lils is overwhelmed by so much guilt that she has secretly changed her application for her dream university to the community college Doug will be studying at! "Tonight, Lils will be giving her virginity to Doug just to comfort him! Once they start college, they'll be busy popping out babies one after another. After graduation, they'll inherit Lils' older sister's company right away and live happily ever after as a married couple!" The moment the comments vanish before my eyes, I see Delilah walking out of her room. "Trish, I'm sleeping over at my best friend's house tonight, so I won't be coming home."

The altered invaded after civilization collapsed. I awakened no ability at all. My body was weaker than an ordinary person's, yet the director of the Federal Anomaly Command personally invited me into Meridian Bastion's SSS-level sanctuary in the Blackridge Exclusion Zone. Because I was the world's only "Reality Anchor". As long as my emotions stayed stable, the dimensional breach above the city wouldn't collapse, and millions of altered creatures couldn't cross into our world. Everyone treated me like something sacred and avoided giving me even the slightest shock. Then one day, a newly awakened S-class destruction operative kicked through the sanctuary's ballistic glass and crushed my limited-edition Nova-9 figure beneath his boot. "The soldiers outside are bleeding to hold back the altered, and command is spending public resources to pamper a useless man who can't even fire a rifle. What makes you worth it?"

I'm the unluckiest real heir to the Hoffman family. I have been reborn 99 times now, and each time, it's on the exact same day—the day I'm brought home for the first time and immediately sent away by a single question from the fake heir, Dexter Hoffman. "Whom do you love more, Dante? Mom or Dad?" "If Desiree and I both fall into the water at the same time, who will you save first, Dante?" No matter what my answer is, my whole family will think it's wrong and judge me as a horrible, malicious person. And then, I will die under mysterious circumstances. When I'm reborn for the 100th time, I decide to give up on giving any real answers and just slack off. Dexter stands next to Mom and Dad and asks me the same question again with a smile on his face. However, I remain standing in place and say nothing in response. Dexter flies into a rage. "Are you deaf or mute, Dante Hoffman? Why aren't you saying anything?" I happily bring out my handy notebook and write, "Are you welcoming me home, Dexter? I'm sorry, but I'm deaf and mute, and I can't hear your beautiful voice. "I'm so happy and touched. You're the first person who doesn't despise me." I even draw a crying face at the end. Dexter is shocked. Even Mom, Dad, and my elder sister, Desiree Hoffman, are utterly confused.

My roommate, Florence Myers—who happens to be from a low-income family—is obsessed with AI. She relies on AI to determine whether the food she eats will bring her good or bad luck, and she even lets AI plan her daily outfits. On our very first day of orientation, she refuses to lock the window, claiming an AI dating app has matched her with her soulmate. I warn her that our dormitory is located deep in the mountains and leaving the window unlocked is dangerous. Florence threatens to end her life if I don't let her have her way. "Cora AI said my true love will break through the window tonight!" I don't want to pick a fight, so I wait until she's sound asleep and quietly lock the window shut. However, when I wake up in the middle of the night, I catch a thief climbing in through the window. I'm about to call for help when Florence clamps her hand over my mouth, looking ridiculously excited. "Don't make a sound, Cleo! I just woke up to unlock the window, and he showed up! This is fate. We're meant to be!" Her cheeks are tinged pink. "If I go over and greet him right now, do you think he'll confess his love to me first?" Ignoring her attempts to stop me, I decisively call the cops and have the thief arrested. I think this matter's behind us, yet on the night orientation ends, Florence corners me against my bed, shoving the latest news headline in my face. "This is all your fault! The thief from that night is the richest man's long-lost son! You ruined my chance to marry into wealth!" The very next second, she strangles the life out of me. … When my eyes fly open again, I realize I've been reborn back to the very first day of college. This time, I scoff, grab my luggage, and walk out the door. Since Florence wants a love story that begins with a home invasion so badly, I'll gladly step aside and let her live out her dream!

Ever since I was little, I have been able to hear what human organs were saying. My sickly roommate was overjoyed when she found out about this. “Lena, you can hear organs talk, and I’ve got gastritis. You must’ve been sent by the heavens to protect me! From now on, I’m putting my health in your hands, okay?” After that, she came up with endless ways to make me wait on her. “Lena, I sent you the pickup code. You know I have gastritis. I can’t walk too much.” “Lena, I want pasta tomorrow. Make sure you hurry back with it. If it gets cold, it’ll hurt my stomach.” Every time, I would simply let out a sigh and agree. It was until one day, when I came back after grabbing something to eat, I accidentally overheard her talking on the phone. “What, organs talking? If Lena could really hear them, wouldn’t she have figured out that I’m faking it by now? If she wants to play along, I’ll play along too. “Some people are born to be the heroine of the story. Others are born to be servants. Perfect timing. I picked out a dress today. Just watch how I get her to pay for it.” I pretended I had not heard a thing, I pushed open the door. The moment she saw me, tears welled up in her eyes. “You’re finally back! Lena, I asked ChatGPT today and it said my gastritis has progressed into a stomach ulcer. I might not have much time left. “There’s this three thousand dollar dress I’ve wanted forever. Consider it compensation for neglecting me. Think of it as granting my final wish!” I let out a sigh and placed the order for her anyway. The instant I checked out the item, I caught the smug look in her eyes. She thought I was stupid. What she did not know was that I really could hear her stomach speaking. It had been telling me that it was turning cancerous.

My 20-year-old daughter was obese. She started gaining weight in middle school, and now she weighed 200 pounds. I worried about her health, so I prepared nutritious meals for her and encouraged her to exercise every day, but she didn't take the problem seriously. "I was born weighing 7 pounds. It's your fault for making me so fat when I was in your womb." For eight years, every time I urged her to lose weight, that was her reply. Just as I was losing hope and considering giving up, I received a FaceTime call from my daughter 10 years in the future. "Mom! Please help me one more time!" My daughter cried on the phone. "I now weigh 500 pounds. I can't even leave home, and I struggle to breathe every day. I feel so miserable!" My heart softened, and I spent $30,000 to send my daughter to a weight loss camp. However, in the camp, my daughter indulged herself and even started a food vlogging channel. "Eat as much as you want, drink as much as you want. Don't take life so seriously. We only have about 80 years to live, so enjoy your food!" I was completely disappointed and chose to respect her decision. My daughter from ten years later cried hysterically on the phone. "The doctor said I don't have long to live! Please stop feeding me!" But this time, the FaceTime call was made to my daughter's phone.

I can hear the voices of every organ in the human body. In my three years of practicing medicine, I've never misdiagnosed a single patient. For instance, a young man with wobbly legs comes in for a consultation, suspecting he has a terminal illness. His kidneys, however, start cursing up a storm. "You're juggling eight girlfriends at the same time. Even a workhorse on a farm doesn't get worked this hard!" I try my best not to laugh, prescribe him some supplements, and casually suggest he learn a little time management. Then, a well-dressed white-collar professional walks in and tells me she's experiencing heart palpitations and dizziness and insists that she must have congenital heart disease. Her heart immediately protests loudly in my ear. "You drink three iced Americanos a day! I'm about to burst out of your ribcage and start doing calisthenics!" I smile and prescribe her some chamomile tea. Less than half a month later, she returns with a healthy, rosy complexion to present me with a banner of appreciation. From that moment on, I earn the nickname "the Human X-Ray". … One afternoon, a woman walks in with a listless-looking boy. Maeve Brown looks sick with worry. "Dr. Young, please take a look at him! Lennon has been suffering from headaches, and he has already taken several days off school due to them." However, his brain is practically throwing a party in my ear. "Hell yeah, I successfully skipped class! I'm going to grind ranked matches all night long!" I smile as I diagnose him with malingering, and Lennon White goes home with a flushed face. Ten days later, Maeve and Hubert White burst into my office. This time, Lennon's complexion is pallid. Bracing himself against the doorframe, his body sways uncontrollably. Initially, I assume he's putting on another performance. However, the moment I hear the voices emanating from within his body, my mind goes blank. I immediately push him out of the room and dial 911. "I'd rather treat a dog with this condition than treat you!"