1000 Words Stories Novels & Stories

A life spent looking backwards misses all the beauty that lies in front of it. Your parents aren’t perfect. You might have realize this. But you’re pretty darn smart. So, like I said before, we have to forgive ourselves or the coulda, woulda, shoulda, fear and anxiety will creep into a crack of our weaknesses, and overcome us. Please know we’re not perfect, and we will never claim to be. Our personal journeys have stories to tell. THAT’S for sure. When it comes time for stories, though, talk to me first… because chances are your father’s are going to be inappropriate. HA!

I whispered again. Kissing Tania’s cheek, I gently spoke into her ear. “Are you alright Tania?” She finally stirred, and then opened her eyes. “That was the best experience I’ve ever had, how did you learn to do that?” “Oh, it’s something I read about in an erotic story,” I lied. Putting her arms around my neck, she whispered, “Fuck me, fuck me hard.”

Please forgive me if you've been waiting for too long. I can't believe that we are close to million readers. Word Count: 1949

she said. “I thought that it wouldn’t be as busy as it was in San Francisco but its crazy busy as well. I think people in this country care more about political drama than anything else. Eighty-nine percent of the news content is just politics, politics, politics. I am yet to decide if that’s a good thing or not….” “How about your co-workers,were they friendly?” Her mother asked. “Yes, everyone was friendly,” She lied. Natasha knew that telling her mother about the antagonistic and villain-like Luyando would only make her have unnecessary worries. “I know it’s just the first day but I think people aren’t as scheming as they were back home.”

Suit pouted childishly at Anderson, and continued, “Do we have a deal, Mr. Anderson?” Anderson stared back and forth between Suit and the scroll. His mind was racing. The contract sounded simple enough. Straightforward, but he did not understand. ‘What did he mean by survive ten stories? Did he not say I was going to tell a story? What does survive the story mean?’ Question after question popped up into his head. He could not help himself. He had no idea exactly what it meant, but one thing was for certain; He would not move forward if he did nothing but constantly question the situation.

With his current status, every move he made would cause a big stir in the city. That was also the main reason he insisted that I propose to him 99 times. Each time he failed to show up at my proposal would turn into fodder for gossip. In the end, I was reduced to a laughingstock. News of the trending searches online filled my feed. "Shocking News! Tycoon Julian Lawson Left Waiting in Vain for His Fiancee at the City Hall. Has He Been Stood Up?" one headline read. "Julian Lawson's Missing Bride-to-Be Sparks Citywide Frenzy!" another wrote.

I once thought that it would be quite impossible for me to write up to 50,000 words. After all, this is my first story. But here we are! I'm just really happy that the book got this far. And hopefully, it will be completed soon. Wish me luck! Thank you to everyone who read and supported the story! Shout out to Onyx Hikari, Dolly Clavel, Silvia Cisneros, Nash Husinhasan, and visitor6317 for supporting and commenting! (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

Amara's pov I stared at the blinking cursor on my laptop screen, its steady rhythm mocking me. For hours, I had been trying to write one simple paragraph a love scene that should have been full of warmth and life. Instead, my words felt empty, like they had no heartbeat. I sighed and leaned back in my chair. The rain outside was soft and quiet, tapping on my window like it was trying to comfort me. I wished it could. My story was supposed to be about love real, deep, aching love but how could I write about something I had never truly felt?

EMMA God, the air in the house felt thicker than the humid summer night pressing against the windows. I was still buzzing from dinner—too much wine, too many lingering looks, and way too much skin on display. I’m Emma, twenty-one, fresh out of college with a body I knew turned heads: tight, athletic from years of running and yoga, perky C-cup tits that loved showing off under thin tank tops, and an ass that filled out my tiny cotton shorts perfectly. But tonight, the real heat wasn’t coming from outside. It was coming from her—my stepmom Sarah—and him—my stepbrother Jake.

Some stories started with hate. This one ended with everything.