Fiction Is Real Novels & Stories

Maisie collected herself. In the silence of the room, all eyes were fixed on her. "I'll address the first question first." Her voice was gentle yet carried unusual determination. "All the events in the book are purely fictional for the sake of the story's completeness and dramatic effect. There's no personal experience behind any of it. You're reading too much into it." "Well..." The journalists exchanged looks, showing puzzled expressions. Rachael was also surprised. This part didn't seem to be in the prepared answers.

“Especially when they’re built on truth.” A faint, condescending smile touched her lips. “Truth is such a malleable concept, don’t you find? Often confused with sentimentality and… well, fiction.” Her eyes locked with mine, a direct challenge. “I read your little blog post. A very moving story. A work of fiction, of course, but moving nonetheless.” I could feel Arthur tense beside me. The entire room was holding its breath. “It’s interesting you should mention fiction,” I said, not breaking eye contact. I gestured to the mosaic. “This phoenix, for example. It’s a powerful myth. Rising from the ashes. But it’s not the only powerful story about rising from ruin, is it?”

“I prefer silence.” Something about the way he said it, flat, calm, almost regretful, made my chest tighten. I didn’t press further. Instead, I let my gaze drift to the wall of screens. The one that showed the holding room: some crying, some praying, some staring blankly at the floor. It was exactly like the fiction, only this time, there was no script. And I realized, with a cold twist in my stomach, why they let the story exist out there. Because even if someone spoke the truth, no one would ever believe it. They’d laugh, call it fiction again, and the real monsters would keep watching from behind their masks.

Each sentence sent electric shocks down my nerves and I had to admit that she somehow made me uncomfortable and nervous too. I smiled slightly and lowered my gaze. She hesitated a little and then asked. "Prince, this book is fiction or real?" She asked looking at my face. I lifted my gaze and I didn't have any alternative rather than telling the truth. "It's real, Abhi. This happens between every husband and wife" Her face turned shocked, red and she instantly looked down. I could feel that she felt that shiver too. We both became silent for a moment and then suddenly she said.

It's a story just for your enjoyment and nothing else. This story and plot are solely of the author's imagination. Nothing is real. If Any incident or people from this story have any similarity to the real-life people, characters, or incidents, then it is only a coincidence and nothing more. This book is a pure form of imagination. It's not real, any of it is not real. ©All rights reserved 2022

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.

How many things is she going to list? “So you’re telling me that everything in storybooks, all the stuff we were taught isn’t real, actually does exist? Like gnomes and trolls and leprechauns?” He splutters, chuckling. “No, those things really are just stories. But there are a lot of things you see so often in films that do exist. It’s just that people never survive to tell the tale.”

Because of this, I would like to point out that this story is not for the weak of stomach or faint of heart. You’d expect to find a story like this in the fiction aisle of your brick and mortar bookstore instead of the non-fiction section where it truly belongs, and that’s okay with me. In fact, I prefer it. It makes it easier to tell a story that I find unbelievable even though I lived through it when it’s formatted and touted as fictitious. I feel free sharing the details under the guise of make believe.

"And I can't differentiate them from you. I can't tell reality apart from fiction. It is as if something is blocking me from making the right decision. Sometimes I will be reminiscing and reveling in your memory. And when I think that is you, and when I am sure it is you. You then disappear like a pillar and cloud of smoke. Just gone, as if you have been released from my grasp. I am struggling to separate reality from fiction. Sometimes even when I open my eyes, I still can't tell it apart."

she explained. “You mean that the stuff is written by Rick Riordan is true?” I widened my eyes, “Kyle has told me about the women which attacked us were Hade’s servants. Does this mean Percy Jackson is real too?” I was damn curious. “Yeah…he’s and everything in those books. All the fictional worlds are real, Alisa” Shelby explained, “There are different dimensions in this world with different veils and entrances. Not every fiction is fiction” “I don’t understand” I shook my head squinting my eyes.