Fictional Short Story Novels & Stories

"Nowhere. I just... I was thinking about a story. A new plot I'm drafting." "A story?" Maya lit up instantly. "Spill. We have exactly four minutes before Mr. Pringle starts his lecture on the 'glory' of crop rotation. Is it spicy?" As we walked toward the History wing, I let my imagination take over. It was easier to tell the truth if I called it fiction. "Okay," I began softly, "imagine there’s this girl at a school just like ours." "She’s invisible. The kind of girl who blends into lockers."

She was fainted Tha-wait. You gotta be kidding me Daphne! She didn't even have a chance to know that Anastacius was there at the incident that day unless she was faking being unconscious. Damn, she faked it! She didn't faint, she was wide awake that day and she didn't even bother to save me or she already knew that they weren't harmful. That Dylan and microwave guy. Don't tell me...........don't tell me that it was just a plan. Fucking bitch of an author who told you to turn a Romantic Novel into a thriller one.

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.

My face suddenly brightened when I tasted them. "These are so good," I said, and he just smiled. "Auggie, where are your parents?" "They are abroad. Sometimes, it is very lonely that I am all alone here." I suddenly recalled what happened last night. I thought I was going to die. I thought God already granted my wish of living in The Yarn. I call it that way because my fictitious world is like tangled yarn. You have to untangle everything just to discover what has been hidden. You are probably thinking that why I prefer to live in fiction. Unlike reality, you could create your own plot. It is like writing a story. You have to think about the sequence of events for you to create a story that

4. Gavin has finished his pancakes and is now sipping from his coffee, watching me with a neutral expression. I again push the book away from me, as if prolonged contact with it could hurt me, somehow. Which is ridiculous. It’s just a journal full of stories, that’s all. So what if Gavin’s story about the Pital girl was eerily accurate? Gavin wrote fiction for a living, he made stuff up. That’s what writers do, right? Make stuff up.

“No that’s not what I’m saying at all, I’m asking what you know about fiction?” “You mean if I want to free a character from a story, I have to follow the rules of fiction.” “And what rules usually apply to fictional rescues from Hell?” “Wait, you said she was trapped in a story, not Hell.” “Both Heaven and Hell are stories that we tell ourselves. They’re ways of coping with our mortality and what comes after.” “I suppose you’re right, that’s why we tell tales about descents into the underworld isn’t it?” “Yes it is.”

The guest today is exceptional indeed. "Agnes!" the venerable lady shouted, calling for her errant niece from the top of the stairs of the great hall. "Agnes! Come here quick!" She was engrossed in the story of two warring tribespeople and how the cunning chief of the tribe sent a woman to destroy the noble warrior of the opposing clan. Unfortunately, the woman fell in love with the warrior. Engrossed in the climactic chapters of the book, she heard her aunt calling her name.

“What stories?” “Well, um, you told…Geneva told them to me. The first tale was about a fairy that fell in love with a human. However, this human craved jewels and treasure and did not care about this fragile fairy. So, he persuaded the fairy to lead him to all the fairies’ riches. He stole it and never looked back, while the fairy, in her own heartbreak and guilt, lay down upon a white lily…closed her eyes and never opened them again.” “That’s awful,” said Grace.

“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.”

Your words will actually make this Diwali a happy one (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠) Most of my readers are non Indians and if you want to know more about Indian festivals, wedding rituals, etc, you can read my other dark romance story - 'Caged in the Dark Embrace of my Saviour.' available on G00d Novel. It has an Indian setting. ~~ I have good news to share with you all, the story 'Auctioned to my Brother's Best Friend' has been selected for a short film and soon it will be launched on Good Shorts and Dramabox 🥳 ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧