Funny Metaphors Novels & Stories

Life’s so unfair, man. “What does a spoon matter when we’re literally stuck in the middle of the woods with invisible monsters, shady, bad men and whatever else creeps around here? Can you please, for once, use your brain and kick some sense in the gear?” He whisper-hisses, so red in the face, he reminds me of a tomato. “You could join a casting for vegetable commercials looking like this,” I remark and laugh at the brilliant joke my brain just reacted. Shit, am I not the funniest guy out there? Look at me - sense of humor, looks, body and an impressive spoon collection, I have it all, damn it. No wonder my little vixen couldn’t deny me.

He asked. “Anyway then he goes .. you’re burning a hole in my head., or something.” She said in a deep voice, mocking him. “And I don’t know how because he was dead asleep. Anyway it scared the shit out of me and I came up off the bed into the air and squealed like a money…” “Why the primate analogies?” Mickey asked. “And oh my god it … it was so freaking funny … so yeah … that’s what it was ..” Emerson told them. And she was grinning. Happily.

“You are funny.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “I am also traumatized. I almost got eaten by wolves. I fell off a cliff. I ran through ghost trees. I saw dead people walking like they were on a normal stroll. And now I am talking to a naked stranger. So yes. I am funny. It is a coping mechanism.” She laughed. Actually laughed. Which annoyed me. “You think this is funny?” I demanded. “Yes.” “This is not funny. This is the worst day of my life.”

I turned, raised an eyebrow and said, “sharpen the blade?” He shrugged and said, “Sure. Sharpen the blade, soak the cucumber, ride the mare... Do you want me to continue? I have better ones.” A mocking smile adorned his face. And it only made me more upset. I shook my head in denial. I kept walking, telling him, “I didn’t know you liked metaphors so much, you bastard.” “Well, there you have it, my dear big brother. I am quite a poet! Not even Pablo Neruda dared to do that.”

Adrian asked, looking at me with worry in his eyes. My stomach fluttered at the caring tone he had addressed me with. "Yeah I'm okay, thank you. I'm just glad to be away from those lights and prying eyes." I said. "They can be quite scary." Adrian sympathized. "Like predators pouncing on their prey." I said with a small smile on my face. "Nice metaphor." Adrian joked, causing an airy laugh to erupt from my lips. Although it was completely new to me, it was nice to share a joke with my husband.

Somewhere in the building a kid laughs and someone else tells him to be nice, which is a sentence I like for no rational reason. I think about cooking something that would make dishes and heat, a signal to my body that we’re doing evening on purpose. Instead I eat an apple and call it dinner. The apple is mealy. The meanness of that makes me laugh for real. You bought this for control and it’s soft. Okay. Fine. Not everything has to be a metaphor. Some things are just bad fruit.

Moreover, I might be young but I'm not weak. "Did you see the way he held her face at the ceremony? I could tell she almost felt like dying. I really saw her eyes watered." And do I have to tell them I've felt like dying a thousand times but did not die? Metaphorically speaking, I have been stabbed in the heart a thousand times but did not die.

“It unnerves people.” “It does,” she admitted. “Some are beginning to feel exposed.” “That suggests they’re standing in places they didn’t expect to be illuminated.” A faint smile flickered across her expression. “You enjoy metaphor.” “I enjoy precision,” I said. “Metaphor just makes it easier to swallow.” She exhaled. “You understand that this stalemate cannot continue indefinitely.” “No,” I said. “But I understand who it benefits while it does.” “And who is that?” “Those hoping I’ll mistake frustration for failure,” I replied.

She mutters with a casual shrug of her shoulder like it was no big deal. “You mean to tell me why you threw me under a bus.” She looks horrified. Her eyes are wide along with her mouth. “I did no such thing. Why would I try and throw a human under a bus? I would rather just remove their spine.” “It’s a figure of speech. It means, why did you screw me over.”

Tall people were the worst. “‘My nipples beaded and my core moistened,’” he continued. He wrinkled his nose. “Core? Why does this sound like she’s describing the earth’s core? Is this poor woman full of lava?” “It’s a metaphor.” I finally was able to snatch the book from his sneaky, princely fingers. “And yes, it’s ridiculously flowery. That’s why I like it.” “I’m surprised.” “That I read?” “No. That you read books like these.”