Example Of A Fictional Story Novelas e Histórias

away from the planets of these two, beyond the reach and conjecture of all. And the end of the story was just as far from the imagination as the writer. If the fairy got the alien, there was no loss-making deal and if she didn't get it? Not every story has to end in laughter. Some stories even become immortal and these incomplete, immortal stories are more appealing.

“Of course not. It’s just a house . . . my house, as you said.” “I can’t believe it. You’re Mr. Horror, and you don’t believe in ghosts? How is that even possible?” “Okay, Bias, I’m going to blow your mind with one hell of a revelation about writers and their stories. I’m pretty sure Lewis Carroll never fell down a rabbit hole into a magical Wonderland; it doesn’t seem likely that Anne Rice believes in vampires; and I highly doubt J.K. Rowling has met any real wizards. That’s what makes it fiction and not nonfiction.”

Finally, he dropped the useless phone and started awkwardly. "Once upon a time there was a snow-white rabbit. One day she came to a small river and there was a bridge over the river. The little rabbit jumped happily across the river, and then she saw a big wolf. The big wolf wanted to eat the little rabbit. The little rabbit was angry and fought with the big wolf." "It's over?" "It's over." Gemma pursed her little mouth unhappily. "That's not how you tell the story." "Then how to tell the story?"

Hi guys, this is my first story on this platform, hope you will enjoy reading it. DISCLAIMER This story right here is a product of my imagination, creativity, and thoughts it has no relationship with anyone but living or dead, places or people, and each character in this story is fictional, and there is no question of it being real. VANDANA POV Everyone? Where are all of you Come out quickly, I yell excited at the top of my voice and they came running.

Time seemed to be moving more slowly as we drew nearer to the water beneath us. 3. Winning my sixth grade spelling bee... I tried blocking out the excruciating pain screaming at me in my ear, every second we were plunging further and further down. 4. Art classes with Miss Miller... The blocking worked and I felt the contact with the water as our car fell in. 5. Bedtime stories with my grandmother... I jerked forward at the impact it created 6. Becoming class president in fourth grade... The impact was so strong I could feel my neck crack as it got jerked back.

This story contains mature content. It is not advisable for children under 18 to read this. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental This story does not promote violence or hatred. It just shows a dark side. This is a total work of fiction and not related to any real-time experience. Any real-time experience is a coincidence.

Lily scoots closer and leans against my arm. “Tell me a story.” “What kind of story?” “Prince and Princess.” I pause for a moment to think. “Once upon a time, there was a prince who lived in the huge castle. He was strong and brave, but he was lonely.” Lily listens, her eyes wide and attentive. “One day, he found a Princes in the rain. She was lost and scared, and he brought her home. They fell in love and then—” Lily interrupt “That’s like you and that Scary Eyebrow Man?”

Shayla resisted longer, peppering me with last-minute questions about whether clouds slept and if frogs had birthdays. Lucas waited until the others were settled before speaking quietly. “Can you tell a story?” Something in his tone—hopeful, vulnerable—unlocked a memory deep inside me. “My mother used to tell me stories,” I said softly. “Would you like one of those?” Three heads nodded eagerly. So I began. I told them about the moon that fell in love with the sea but could never touch it, about the brave girl who taught the stars how to sing, about the fox who tricked winter into leaving early.

My grandmother and mother spent every day arguing. My grandmother scolded my mother for being reckless with money, while my mother scoffed at my grandmother for being too old-fashioned. While I was playing in the living room, my grandmother would read me some stories. “In the end, the pigeon flew far away in search of its own place,” she said. When my mother saw this, she would sit with me and listen to my grandmother’s stories with rapt attention. Winter was a hard season for my grandmother. She was often dressed in thick layers, since she was afraid of the cold.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. "Tell me a story," she sobbed into his tunic. "Make me laugh. Make the voices stop." Finn held her. He rocked her back and forth, like a child. "Once..." Finn whispered, his voice shaking. "Once, the little rabbit tried to jump over the moon. He missed. He fell into a pond." Miya let out a wet laugh. "Did he drown?" "No," Finn said softly, stroking her hair. "The frogs saved him. They made him a lily-pad boat."