Fiction Stories Novels & Stories

Instead of facing his own demon, Sabrina's father took his own life in front of his family, scarring his own daughter for life. Being a non-fiction novelist, most of my stories are about people’s experiences. I collect facts through research and interviews, then retell the stories through books. My stories, in turn, memorialize their contributions in life and highlight their suffering and pain. This way, they shall be remembered and hopefully, their story helps someone along the way, someone who currently faces these difficulties.

Don't get it wrong. Sometimes stereotypes were spot on correct and sometimes they weren't. This was again, another case in Brianna Samuels. She wasn't one of those bitches that everyone knew about because of stereotypes, that lived for gossip and brought people down just so they felt better about themselves. Okay, well Brianna did live for gossip, but mostly the harmless type of gossip and she definitely did not live to step on people. The type of gossip she lived for would basically be classified as petty theft in contrast to murder. Basically who dated who and who's hot and whatnot.

And maybe in the end I'll succeed. The ideas have never stopped flowing, and amidst the difficulties, I've gathered them together to tell even more stories. I have a notebook full of ideas, story segments just waiting for the right piece to fit into. I've conceived many new universes. I have a love story planned that I hope will make your heart skip a beat, between two young people wounded by the world. A horror story that I hope will take your breath away, with its demons. A fantasy that I hope will transport you to a world of mysterious creatures and strange rites.

It was late by the time I got home to pack. I sat down on the couch and glanced over at the dining table. It was a mess. There were dishes everywhere, as well as a plate of braised short ribs Dexter was known for and a pasta bake Brianna had been perfecting since forever. It wasn't hard to picture the two of them in the kitchen together while Brianna's ankle healed, cooking side by side, then sitting across from each other over drinks. And the diary I'd filled to 100 pages was underneath one of the dishes, used as a trivet. It was covered in grease stains.

And another, Kaydrian Blackstone, chimed in, “Yeah. I’ll definitely come to school and pay rapt attention every day if your unclad body were the subject to be discussed. One of the girls stopped pretending to cover her eyes. “Yeah, I second that. Because that’s a delicious subject,” she gulped, her heated gaze on him. “Imagine him working at a dying restaurant, wearing nothing but a red hellakitty apron.” “Damn. Such a rich imagination. His ass will surely bring in the bills. And the ladies,” “Add the men as well. Coz I don’t mind eating trashy food, as long as my eyes are well-fed by Sean.”

“I can just send the pictures directly to your DM.” I yanked his phone from him for the second time today. “Posted,” I said to him. “Naughty girl." he bopped my nose with his fingers. “Well, you can't do without this naughty girl.” I laughed. “I am very happy that we are back together as friends.” “I am happy too. Let us gist. I am bored." “Gossiper!” “It is not gossip. it is gisting. They are two different things.” I hissed. He laughed. God! He looks very handsome when he laughs. I took a moment to register how he looks when laughing in my mind.

I felt my pussy contract at his words, grasping at something that wasn’t there yet I desperately craved. “Just focus on the stars, baby.” he licked up and down my neck while his fingers finally parted my folds, finding my clit. He rubbed the bundle of nerves until I shook. I stared up at the ceiling as shooting stars and comets zipped by. I felt myself getting close, as if I could join those heavenly bodies up in the sky.

Before there were doors between worlds, there were stories. They whispered from hearth to hearth and ship to ship— of wolves that ran like midnight wind, of foxes with nine tails and nine more tricks beyond that, of fae who looked like carved moonlight and smiled like knives. Humans loved those stories—as long as they stayed in books and bedtime. The moment a story breathed, the moment a pair of eyes glinted from a tree line or a shadow stepped out of the corner of a room, humans did what humans do best when they’re afraid.

Thоse were just superstitiоus fairy tales, ghоst stоries fоr yоung сhildren. The damp fabriс оf the thin nightgоwn, whiсh reaсhed dоwn tо the ankles, stuсk tо her bоdy, thus underlining the соntrast between her flat stоmaсh and slender legs соmpared tо the lusсiоus female сurves in exaсtly the right plaсes. Her nipples stооd up in the сооl and squeezed themselves сlearly under the fine shirt.

He gestured toward the narrow aisle between fiction and children’s books. “Storage wasted on that back room. And don’t get me started on the courtyard out back. Prime square footage doing nothing but growing weeds.” Before she could fire back, the kids started filing in for storytime, backpacks thumping as they dropped onto the colorful rug. Elena shot him a warning look and moved to the front. She picked up *The Adventures of Benny the Bookworm*, her voice shifting into the warm, animated tone she used for the little ones.