1 Paragraph Story Novels & Stories

A muscle memory that acted without me needing to think. When I opened my eyes, the password had already been typed in. I quickly scribbled it down in my paper before pressing enter. To my relief, the phone unlocked. I was suprise, because the profile picture is Helena and Oscar kissing on their wedding day. And I was stunned because the Oscar’s legs were still standing firm, and his eyes not blind. I narrowed my gaze. “Looks like I missed the part about why Oscar became blind and paralyzed,” I muttered. I dove straight into W******p, scrolling through contacts, searching only for one name: Julian Joja.

I'd spent five years in this city, and everywhere I looked, I saw traces of Dexter and me. But I couldn't spend my whole life living inside those traces. I picked up my violin and took a deep breath. I lifted my chin and walked out onto the stage. It was time I started walking toward something brighter. The song was one I'd written myself, lyrics and melody, with the violin carrying straight through from beginning to end. But during the chorus, I froze for a split second. The camera had landed on a man and a woman in the crowd. Every other couple the camera had panned to leaned in for a kiss on instinct, but they didn't.

“I told you, I won’t force you.” “But we must, I mean we can’t fake the-” “We’ll mark each other. It'll be enough to sustain our story. I know how you feel about it, but the mark will fade away eventually. We'll renew it once in a while.” By the end of this talk, he was only in his underwear. A small whimper escaped my mouth causing me to slap a hand over it. His laugh filled the room. Despite the turmoil of emotions that were ravaging my mind, I couldn’t deny the fact that his body was nothing less than perfect.

I shuddered, my day has finally come, this person is not mentally stable who on earth murders her mother and siblings just for power and status i'd rather be poor. “Glenda you are surrounded by the police “ a voice yelled from outside “ so fast, I thought we will have the whole day to ourselves and play a little seems like we can’t maybe in another life” she hissed and her eyes lit up, its like she was high “ kiss this baby goodbye too like the first one, this one is a little lucky you will see him in the afterlife” she raised her dagger aiming at my bulging tummy, I closed my eyes praying for a miracle

But now… “Great! Now that’s done let me explain the rules of the new game. You are going to tell me a story. All you have to do is survive the story. Simple right?” Of course, it was not as simple. Anderson knew very well that anything concerning a demon would not be as simple. What was worse, this particular demon was very different. So, who knew what twisted game of story telling the demon had in mind? Anderson nodded warily at the demon’s enquiry. Whatever was coming he knew very well the odds would be against him as such he had his guard up. It was funny; He was rather feeling like the trapped one.

Maya joined us, sitting on the swing’s armrest. “Twenty-five years,” she said softly. “That’s… a long time.” “It is,” I agreed. “And somehow not long enough.” Lila leaned against the railing. “Tell the story again. The first day.” I laughed—quiet, fond. “You’ve heard it a thousand times.” “Tell it anyway.” So I did. I told them about the duffel bag the size of a small country. About tripping and nearly face-planting. About the icy blue eyes that studied me like I was an opponent on the field.

"The moral of the story?" He laughed at her cute question. "The moral of the story is, no one is good or bad... We all have good and bad sides in us and that's what makes our life story strong... If we all are good then there is no story, if we all are bad then there is no need for your story because you don't deserve one... Good and evil makes one perfect life story and that's what makes our life worth... No one is good and bad, no one is a hero and villain. We are both!"

He crossed his arms and waited, wary, giving me exactly the narrow window I'd asked for and not an inch more. "I owe you the answer I couldn't give you that night," I said, and made myself say it plainly this time, no timeline, no defense, no case built out of context he hadn't asked for. "It was real. All of it, after the first couple weeks. I stopped thinking about the bet almost immediately — faster than I even understood myself at the time. By the time we were at the house, it had nothing to do with Noah or bragging rights or any of it. It was just you."

That’s what the old Sloane would do. I typed one sentence: *I want to tell stories that matter.* Then I deleted it. Because the only story that mattered was the one I couldn’t tell anyone.

------------------------------------------------ Authors’ notes: J: this story was supposed to be an ABO, but as we wrote, that element disappeared, so we removed it. L: yep