Short Stories & Novels

My roommate is the kind of person who has to get to the bottom of everything and doesn't stop asking questions until she's satisfied. One night, while I'm sound asleep, she suddenly stands by my bed and calls my name, "Melissa, are you asleep?" Having been awakened by her, I shoot her an annoyed glare, but she just says, "See? You weren't really asleep. Otherwise, how could you have answered me?" One day, she decides to skip class. Thinking that I could help by signing her in on my phone, I do just that. However, near the end of the lecture, she suddenly bursts into the room and asks the professor, "I wasn't here today, so why does it show I was marked present? Is the system down?" The professor traces it back to me, fails me on the spot, and makes me retake the class. Later on, I join a speech contest. My roommate stands up in front of everyone and asks why my speech sounded exactly like her ideas. I get disqualified, lose my scholarship, and am labeled a plagiarist. Devastated, I climb onto the rooftop late at night. When I open my eyes again, I'm back to the night when my roommate first asked if I was asleep.

I die in the basement after being burned by acid. My family doesn't recognize me, and they don't call the cops. My mother picks up the scalpel that hasn't been used in years and debones me. My father excitedly mixes my skeleton with concrete and turns me into an exquisite statue. My sister uses the sculpture she's made out of my flesh and portrays herself as a genius sculptor whom everyone admires. Later, the sculpture is shattered, revealing half a broken finger inside. That's when everyone panics.

During my father's funeral, my husband pants heavily while pulling my cousin's legs around his waist in the morgue. She holds him saucily and asks, "How did it feel? I left my first time for you." He pulls her close, looking sated. "It felt mindblowing." She asks coquettishly, "When will you marry me, then?" His expression turns serious. "I can give you as much money as you want, but your cousin is the only woman who can be my wife. The company we've established together is going public soon." I record all of this. On the day the company becomes publicly listed, a video of their intimacy in the office is played on a humongous screen. Then, I sell my shares and travel around the world. That's when my ex-husband weeps and begs me to return.

My body drifted in the river for five years before a fishing enthusiast reeled it in. Even though the forensic pathologist managed to reconstruct my face from when I was alive through craniofacial reconstruction technology, the hatred my brother had for me remained as strong as ever. "That better be her body! She has been on the run for five years! Even in death, she doesn't deserve pity! In fact, it simply is a disgrace to have a murderer like her as the daughter of the Clarke family!" he hissed. Everyone thought he despised me with every fiber of his being. Yet, as he spoke, his entire body trembled. Who would have guessed that the distress call I made to him five years ago would end up becoming the main factor that hastened my death?

When my family went bankrupt, I was drugged and sent to the bed of my childhood sweetheart, Craig Kennedy. From that night, he brought women home every evening, tossing a divorce agreement in my face. "Beg me, and I won't leave you." He stood above me, watching as I humbled myself to dust, pleading to preserve our marriage. He even ordered me to kneel in his office and massage the feet of his secretary, Lucia Langston. On the day the Moore Group needed ten million to survive, she blocked all my desperate calls for help. I waited 24 hours, watching my family's legacy collapse and my parents take their lives. Craig, with Lucia at his side, entered the house and threw the signed divorce agreement at me again. "You wanted money to save your family, didn't you? Beg me, and as long as I don't divorce you, no one will touch them." But I signed it with calm despair. "Don't bother. We no longer need your help."

On Christmas Eve, my six-year-old, Yule, was dying from cancer, and all he wanted was a gift from his dad dressed as Santa. I called Peter, my husband, begging him to come. His reply? "Can you stop blowing up my phone? I don't have time for this! I'm helping Tracey find Puffy. Do you know how upset she is?" Oh, Tracey. His first love. And Puffy? Her dog. I told him Yule might not make it through the night. His response? A straight-up dagger: "Don't act like this isn't your fault, Freya. If Yule hadn't kicked Puffy, none of this would've happened. Tomorrow, make sure he apologizes to Tracey." Then he hung up. That night, I sat with Yule, crying as I helped him celebrate his last Christmas. By morning, Peter's social medias were still full of posts about that freaking dog. Mine? Yule's obituary. Ten years of marriage, gone.

Stephen's beloved Phoebe fell into a coma. To everyone, I became the villain—accused of harming her out of unrequited love for Stephen. Mute, I had no way to defend myself before Stephen locked me away in the basement. He said I would only be freed when Phoebe woke up. Broken and hopeless, I succumbed to fear and starvation, eventually developing amnesia. Day by day, my memories began to slip away. Yet, Stephen, tears in his eyes, begged me not to forget him. But all I wanted was to leave it all behind and keep moving forward.

I'm kidnapped at the same time as my husband's true love. I call him on the verge of death and beg him to save me. However, he thinks I'm putting on an act and only pays the ransom for his true love. He leaves me and his brother to die. Before hanging up, he snaps, "Drop the act, Marlena! Can't you see how terrified Sue is? I'll get even with you for hiring someone to kidnap her!" It's too bad Howard Jenne will never get even with me for this. The moment he turns his back on me and his autistic brother, the kidnappers kill us.

In the third year after my death, the one who remained faithfully by my wife's side was still the bionic robot I had painstakingly designed. It looked exactly like me and carried within it every detail of my mannerisms, speech, and habits. The only difference was that it never lost its temper with her. Because of that, my wife never sensed anything amiss. Yet each night, she brought home a different man, deliberately testing "me," desperate to see the wild jealousy and rage I once wore so vividly. Then, one day, her childhood sweetheart and first love, shoved "me" off the balcony. It was only then, in her horror, that my wife realized… "I" didn't bleed.

Eight months into my pregnancy, my husband finally makes time from his police duties to go to a prenatal checkup with me for the first time. The moment we step into the hospital, his satellite-encrypted phone buzzes urgently. The caller ID flashes briefly, and just like that, the man who's always calm and collected panics. "Honey, it's a red alert. Another international fugitive just crossed the border. I… I'm sorry…" He's clearly anxious, yet his tone is firm, leaving no room for argument. After apologizing, he rushes off. As I watch his SUV speed out of sight, my fist clenches tightly, crumpling the prenatal checkup sheet. I flag down a cab, slide into the car, and swiftly instruct the driver, "Follow that car. Don't lose it." A Red Notice for a fugitive? What a joke. My father, who works at the National Security Agency, barely catches wind of a notice like that. Yet, somehow, a mere police chief who only assists with cases is suddenly tasked with catching a high-priority criminal. Fine, then. I can't wait to meet the superior who's given him such an urgent assignment.

Fresh out of the National Research Institute, I loaded up on my wife's favorite snacks and ordered a vibrant bouquet of roses, eager to surprise her. I stashed the treats in her office, then stepped out to grab the flowers. But in those fleeting minutes, a stranger had ripped open every package and devoured everything. I glared at him. "Who gave you permission to touch those?" He shot me a look of pure disdain. "Buzz off, flower boy. Drop your crap and scram!" The secretary at the door snickered. "You heard the man. He's Ms. Bowman's husband. Better run before he leaves a bad review." I pulled out my phone and called my wife. "Who is this guy in your office?"

The day my father dies, my boyfriend, Heath Summers, is accompanying his true love for her prenatal checkup. I lose hope in him and ask for a breakup, but he thinks I'm just being jealous. He says, "Naomi's already miscarried thrice—it hasn't been easy for her to conceive this child. Stop being unreasonable." I've been with him for seven years, but it turns out I can't compare to his childhood sweetheart.

On the last day of the deadline for the loan repayment, I went to Liam Sommer's stepsister, Christine Sommer, to ask for the 300,000 dollars I had lent her. The next day, Liam threw a ledger I had never seen before in front of me. Liam said, "On your birthday last year, I transferred 8,100 dollars to you. On our tenth anniversary, I transferred 108,000 dollars to you. Also, at the beginning of every month, I transfer 20,000 dollars to you for your living expenses. You must pay me back by the end of today." I froze, but Liam smiled without a hint of warmth. "What’s wrong? You can't afford to repay me? Evelyn Lancaster, you shouldn't have given Christy trouble. This is my lesson to you. If you don't pay me back today, let's not meet for the next three years, and don't come looking for me." Over the next three years, I never saw Liam again, nor did I go looking for him. While he and Christine traveled around the world and wore couple rings, I married my childhood friend in front of our family and friends. While he and Christine walked along the beach and kissed, I moved into a new house with my husband, our cat, and our dog. Everything was moving along smoothly, but why was Liam standing under the window of my house in the middle of the night, crying and saying that he was unhappy?

I died the night before my wedding to Christopher. But on the wedding day, a giant screen showed photos of me in bed with another man. In a fit of rage, Christopher smashed the screen and got engaged to my sister, Elizabeth. When my father informed him of my disappearance, Christopher sneered. “Disappeared? With the disgusting things she has done, she’s probably too ashamed to show her face!” My brother joined in with a scornful yell. “She hurt Liz, and now she has done such shameless things. I refuse to acknowledge such a wicked sister!” The shock and anger led to a fatal stroke, and my father died right there. Since then, I was despised by everyone in Cloud City. What they did not know was that it was the seemingly gentle Elizabeth who had brutally stabbed me to death and dumped my body in the river. Two months later, a fisherman found my body washed ashore.

Feeling overwhelmed by loneliness, I installed a one-way mirror in the bedroom of the apartment next door, which I specifically rent out to muscular men. One day, through the mirror on the wall, I watched my tenant with his girlfriend, caught up in their fiery passion. I couldn't help but be drawn to his strong physique and impressive size. One day, I pulled him into a small, dimly lit cubicle with me...

I had been asleep from 1975 to 2025. I am the only successful subject to have ever survived a cryonics experiment. Wearing the face of a 20-year-old, I set off to seek out my wealthy younger brother and reclaim my place in the family. But a barrage of comments suddenly appears. "This female lead is stupid. Her brother took her small shop and turned it into a business empire. People change. He doesn't even remember her anymore. Why would he want to reconnect with her?" "Exactly! The Slater family is tearing itself apart over the inheritance. If she shows up, they'll kill her!" "Michael Shaw truly loves her. If she marries him, she'll be happy for life." Just then, Michael drops to one knee before me. "Zoe, the Slaters are too dangerous. Don't go back, okay? Marry me instead. I'll take care of you and protect you for the rest of my life." His words touch me. Before I can reply, I hear his thoughts in my ear. "System, did you post the fake comments?"

After going bankrupt, I was given away as a gift by my former nemesis, Colt Reyes. My former lover, Emerson Snyder, the one I had played with the most ruthlessly before, now traced his fingers along my face, his hands roaming every inch of my body. "You sure had a lot of lovers," he said. I provoked him defiantly, telling him he was the most despicable among all my lovers. He gave my face a light pat, his suggestive tone dripping with amusement. "That's okay. Now you only need to serve me."

At our wedding ceremony, the four-year-old nephew of my fiance, Michael Thompson, suddenly rushes onto the stage. He grabs his uncle's hand and cries, "Daddy, why are you marrying another woman? Don't you want me and Mommy anymore?" Seeing this, Lisa Jenner quickly runs over to intervene. She sounds apologetic, but her words are slightly provocative. "I'm so sorry, Sarah. Danny lost his father when he was little and has always seen Michael as his dad. He didn't mean to cause trouble." Even Michael remains completely calm as he picks up Danny. He explains to me, "Before David passed away, he made me promise to take care of his widow and child. I only let Danny call me 'Daddy' so he could have a normal childhood. You understand, right?" As I look at the three of them, standing there like the perfect family, I laugh coldly and rip off my veil. "This poor child has been through so much. How could I possibly steal his dad away? "You know what? Why don't I just let Lisa take my place up here? Then you can have your happy little family of three."

On the day of my birthday, my cousin, who does ballet, falls and injures her leg. My father smacks my leg with a club in a fit of rage. I cry out in pain, but he doesn't care. He sneers and says, "Now, you know how it feels! Why didn't you stop to think how much pain your cousin would be in when you pushed her and made her fall down the stairs?" He hits me with all his might until I can't make any more sounds. To drive the lesson home, he shoves me into the basement, uncaring that I'm on the brink of death. "I'll let you out of there once you stop thinking these dirty thoughts, Yvonne!" But when he opens the door to the basement once more, all he sees is my decomposing corpse.

My mother was the best portrait artist in the police station. She had a strong sense of justice and brooked no evil. However, all I got was a sharp retort when I called her to save me. "You know it's your sister's coming-of-age celebration today, and you're cursing her? Kidnapped, are you? Fine, the kidnappers can kill you for all I care." She assumed it was a prank call. So, she refused to go to the police station and do her job. I wasn't saved in time and was tortured to death. When the DNA report came out, she came to the scene all wobbly. She drew a portrait of me with my bones as reference, her hand trembling all the way. "Jessica? It can't be her. This is a mistake!" She tried again and again. Yet, it didn't matter how many times she redid it as the portrait showed my face. My mother, who had hated me my whole life, teared up.