A Story Of My Life Novels & Stories

He put his finger to my cheek, my body freezing at the touch. "Why are you crying Asoka?" Was I? I had not noticed the tears streaming out from my eyes. I realized I just had my first memory of my past. I was sold to be a servant by my dad for gambling money. For gambling money?! My face grew hot. I am pissed now. How could my own blood sell me for gambling money? I looked up at Helium, trying hard to sound calm. "Lets go look at what is in the warehouse. I have no need for a servant at this moment." I didn't even give him time to respond. I headed towards the warehouse, praying it did not have any humans for sale.

Well, I could ditch the rules, I guess. “I spent the first fifteen years of my life in a small house at the edge of town, isolated from human society and seeing only the woman who raised me and an occasional passerby. When I tell people what my childhood was like, they always seem to pity me. However, I’ve learned that my childhood is my childhood. It’s my story, and just because I haven’t lived as broadly as others doesn’t mean I haven’t lived as deeply either. So, there’s nothing wrong with your story, Millicent.” I smiled at her and enveloped her in another hug. She returned it, hugging me. We sprung apart and heard a knock at the door. Millicent went to get it while I took a seat at the

My life slowly came back on track as I resumed my classes for the final year exams and was working hard to manage everything. I used to write short stories for the website when Warren approached me through an email to write a book that he will publish. I was not sure if I was good enough to be published, but Warren showed great confidence in me. The first story I wrote was about the hardships my grandmother faced. It was a tragic story of a selfless woman who killed herself to save her daughter from the clutches of the brothel and the sad reality of women in the eighties.

I closed my eyes, trembling as tears escaped and fell into the food. "Happy birthday, Eleanor Shaw," I whispered to myself. "Keep moving forward—onward forever. Even if no one loves you, there's still light at the end of the tunnel. As Jeffrey said, you have enjoyed over 20 wonderful years of wealth and privilege. You've had it good." Just like that, I repeated words of comfort to myself as I wiped away my tears. I moved all my belongings that I had sorted out over the past two weeks in the living room.

I said. My face was pale as death, and a nagging ache twisted in my stomach. It was an old pain that had been with me ever since I spent those three years in that cellar. Every day, I ate stale bread and lumpy mashed potatoes that had been sitting out forever. The bread was so thick and dry that it was almost impossible to swallow. Panic flashed across Henry's face. It was something I hadn't seen in ages. "Sabrina, I swear I didn't know! Do you think I'm lying?" he asked.

She sat in the corner of her cell all day without sleep, murmuring to herself over and over that it was all her fault. "Zachary, I'm sorry… If there's a next life, I promise I'll make it up to you." Without thinking, I immediately responded, "That won't be necessary, Mom. I don't want to be your son in the next life." As if she could suddenly see me, Mom turned toward me and exclaimed, "Zachary, you came to visit me! I knew you couldn't bear to leave me." I was startled, but I tried speaking to her again.

In my previous life, Derick had his fling with his so-called 'sister' Jasmine before he ever knew me. All the while, unaware of the truth, I was running the mafia business and raising their child myself. They were busy dreaming about their love child and blowing through the cash I made, which ended up costing my son his life. I poured my soul into making their kid my successor, and they just sat back and enjoyed the spoils. My boy and I? We were just pawns in their perfect life! Fate handed me a do-over, and this time, Derrick and Jasmine would be dealt with a well-deserved retribution!

Under the streetlight, I caught a glimpse of his eyes—red and tired. I smiled. "No stress. I eat well, sleep well. Of course I've filled out a bit." I used to be barely hanging on—5'7", barely 99 pounds. Back then, I was stuck taking care of him, stewing over how obvious his thing for someone else was. Lost my appetite day after day. Slipped into a mild eating disorder without even realizing. It wasn't until I came to Inglane that I started healing. Started looking—and feeling—like myself again.

They left a decent neighborhood for a rundown apartment block. Word on the street was that Rhett got so sick he nearly did not make it, and Kelly aged a decade in a single night. They had once been the pride of the block, always bragging about their daughter’s big achievements. Then, they became the punchline of every neighbor’s joke. People whispered that I went too far, that I forgot old loyalties. In response, I would give a half-smile and stay mum. Did Sheila think of the sacrifices I made while she was off studying abroad on my dime? Did she spare a thought for the house I mortgaged or the plain dinners and crowded bus rides I endured?