Novel & Cerita Humorous Narratives

"You have no idea–I was just joking around, but those disgusting guys went crazy asking me for your contact." The old me would have already been crying, asking her how she could do this to me, voice breaking. Not this me. My teeth clenched so hard they hurt. My whole body trembled with anger. I snatched the flyer out of her hand and slapped her across the face. Tara screamed, clutching her cheek in disbelief. "You hit me? I treat you like my best friend, and you can't even take a joke anymore?" Best friend? I let out a cold laugh.

His eyes were bristling with anger while he said this because he couldn’t tolerate Caroline’s rude behavior. “You have time to decide till tomorrow! And if your answer is NO then you can tell me RIGHT NOW!” “I never said my answer is NO. I’ll think and tell by tomorrow.” Caroline rushed out of the office with attitude as she yelled at my dad. ***** “What a dumb human! Money cant buy happiness??? Money can buy anything! And if you have money then why do you need happiness anyways. These emotions/feelings are such a waste of time!” Caroline mumbled in anger in her office.

this is no part of the story but a way for me to clear up the audience for the next stage of the story. i usually link all my stories together so a bit explanation to some characters that pop out from no where saying some random stuff is really needed especially now the story is about to enter the real stages.

What do you say? Even though I hate exercises, damn it's really exhausting. But it's a different thing that the whole day I sit here in the cafe and laugh, make weird expressions, sometimes talk in different voices or maybe embarrassing sounds I create. But it's a total fun not boring, and exhaustion is common in every work so it's your choice what you want to do, the thing which is boring and a kind of headache for you or the thing that makes you feel better, something amusing that you yearn to do. And I yearn to narrate the greatest story of that 'His.'

He never told me what had happened when he spent the night; just that he would never set foot in that building again. I questioned him about what he had seen and experienced but he only gave vague explanations and mutterings. My disbelief of ghosts and haunted houses seemed reasonable to me since he wouldn’t offer any details of what had happened. It seemed that every time we got together after that, our conversations always seemed to gravitate back to that night. You couldn’t enjoy a meal or a few beers without his mumblings and warnings always popping up; just like the mysterious ghosts. I’d end up asking him to tell me what happened and we’d end up arguing because he wouldn’t give the det

“I might not have read your script, but with the way you spoke about it, I'm pretty sure it's brilliant and it'll do brilliantly well.” My gaze lifted to see him stunned with his eyes wide opened like I had told a ghost story. He blinked, then smiled. “That's actually quite encouraging. Thanks. I guess you're not that weird after all.” I scoffed. “I guess you're not that tough after all.” Several minutes later, we were still seated, having a great conversation. He narrated a story where he almost got beaten to death after pretending to have a gun so he could scare away some robbers. Somehow, he found a way to make the story hilarious, my amusement making my stomach hurt as I laughed heartily

And so, on and on ,like the osscilation of a pendulum, the disheartening piece of my bio churned while the sands of time dripped slowly and slowly as it watched my narration irks the soul of the spectators. That I thought, but it appeared to be nothing but a blunt lie. It was a revolving piece of gags and laughs. A piece of funny cake, a chunk of interesting cheese, a loaf of an adventurous bread and a real ginger to the spirits of the audience. They applauded.

The chill drenched into my bones, and I shivered. Zack stood at the entrance, his smile sardonic. He clapped his hands, and the maids got the message. They grabbed the snow off the ground and made snowballs. Then they hurled the snowballs at us. The snowballs exploded the moment they came in contact with our skin. The chill seeped in worse than ever. This was humiliating. It almost felt like I was a toy. I struggled and thrashed around. "Stop! They're Wendy's parents!"

He told stories. Good ones, the kind that had been refined through repetition into their best version — funny and specific, the details exactly right, the kind of story that made you feel you had been in the room when it happened. My mother laughed. Dominic made the compressed thing, the almost-smile, more than once. I laughed too. Genuinely. The unmanaged kind, the laugh that arrived before you’d decided to have it. Marcus noticed.

Until now, strange short stories had only very short stories. But from volume two I intend to add stories that have 10 to 20 captains as well. These stories are not so long nor have so much visibility as a separated book. For this reason, I decided to move all then into strange short stories, that is already a storybook of different themes.