Does Fiction Mean Fake Novels & Stories

A scary dream. My sweat also stains. "Gab, are you okay?" I turned to the speaker. "Aunt?" I immediately hugged her in no time. "Gab, what happened to you?" it asked me. “V-Vampire,” was all I could say. “Oh, I see. You have a nightmare, right? ” I let go of her hug and nodded weakly. “Okay, let me tell you this — vampires are not real. They are just fiction. They're just made up by writers, okay? ” an explanation to me.

"It matters that the University just deleted your student records. They are telling the press you were a 'troubled' student with a history of lying." "But the paintings!" I pointed at the screen. "The people are sharing the paintings!" "Look at the new comments," he said. I scrolled down. The tone had changed. "Wait, if she’s a liar, are the paintings even real?" one person asked. "The Calloways say this is all 'AI-generated fan fiction' by a disgruntled teacher," said another. "They're twisting it," I whispered. "They’re taking the truth and making it look like a messy breakup story. Like we’re just two crazy people who got mad at the school."

“Take it down, Mateo. I am not here to beg or negotiate, this is a final warning. Everything there was fake.” He laughed, throwing his head back as though I had told the funniest joke in the world. “Fake? Maybe. But perception is everything, isn’t it? People believe what they want to believe. And right now, they believe your mother is a cougar and a predator. It is talked about everywhere, they write it in group chats, it has stuck.” He smirked. “You can’t unstick it.” I stepped closer. “Post the truth dawg.”

Something irreparable, but coverable: with smiles, with pretty looks, with good gestures. She doesn't lie, she hides the truth. She doesn't say anything, and she yells a lot in complete silence. She is the absolute image of the controversy. The good, which must be bad by nature. The beautiful thing, that it is completely broken. The strength, which has weaknesses. The quiet girl with books and loud music, who goes out to a party to get high. The promiscuity, that she does not like to kiss. The life that is not real. The life that is invented. The life that must be lived out of obligation. The fake life she invented in her dreams to survive.

she declared, her tone oozing with false pride. My eyes widened in disbelief. I knew we had our struggles, but Mia seemed intent on projecting an image that was far from the truth. As the family members leaned in, curious about our supposedly affluent lives, Mia continued her fabrications. "We've claimed many eligible, wealthy men in our lifetime," she bragged, a sly smile playing on her lips. I shot her a disapproving look, my frustration simmering beneath the surface. I couldn't understand why she felt the need to create such a fantastical narrative. The gap between truth and fiction widened with every word she spoke.

I am not ashamed to say that some of the above-mentioned movies are indeed my favorite. But that's the thing about fiction. A cow lives on a tree. Every story has two sides, some have more, and most would never be heard. I wonder if it's better that way. Not knowing the dirty, cruel, true side. It makes others feel better, but it makes us, me feel worse every time. Not that I tell my story to anyone, never have, but sometimes I just can't stop telling it to myself and what follows after, better not be revealed.

I mocked. she was quiet as she gawked at my words. " God i spoke too much. Its my wild imagination. I forgot about it, I swear ill tame it," I heaved. " Come on girl, you are fabulous and great, now I know you are a good writer, and you have got to be kidding me, did you write that fiction with a pen name?" She asked. I covered my mouth. " No you didn't, you didn't, that ain't me," I breathed.

He replied, "All books are fiction." "Not all." "You know what I mean." He shook his head, as I continued. "I like stories that take me somewhere else," I said, "Stories that make me forget reality exists and make me paint pictures in my head. His eyes flickered briefly. "That explains the paintings." I nodded. "It helps." "So, you're one of those romance people that enjoys all those ridiculous stories.” He said, “Where girl meets boy, girl hates boy. And then by some silly ass miracle, they both love each other at the end of the day.”

You enjoy the fluff, get your panties wet during the snu-snu moments, and fantasize about things that only happen in fiction. 'You like to read these crappy books because you want to fantasize about the things that you can never have. These books make up for your boring reality. These books have twisted your expectations of a real man. You drool over fictional characters but you won't look at a real man,' My younger brother had chastised me once, 'and these authors make your wallet thinner by manipulating your mindset and making you addicted.'

A story that will unravel secrets, relive pasts, and show how dirty and utterly pleasurable politics can be; because no matter how you will look at it. Politics will always be a dirty game. And they are all ready to play. - - - - - - - - - - DISCLAIMER: This story is purely fictional and is not connected to any political parties/issues/countries. It does not follow the real life rules and regulations inside politics (e.g. proper age of the people who can run for a position in the elections, etc.). This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual