John Silence Stories Novels & Stories

The water was clear enough for me to see every rock that covered the bottom of it, every color could be seen. "Subhanallah" I whispered as I heard birds chirping around me. The first time I talked my throat felt like sandpaper no one said a word when it came to my past, they knew it all from going through the journal that had been my only companion in the darkness I came from, I didn't say anything when Myra returned the journal to me with tears in her eyes and I looked away from the sympathetic gazes of my family.

Ten years later... The air in the bookstore buzzed with quiet excitement. It wasn’t a stadium. No flashing lights. No cameras in her face. Just soft music, rows of worn novels, and a long line of readers holding a single book in their hands. "Signed With Silence: The Untold Story of Survival, Power, and Love" by Marie Sanchez. Victor, now eleven, stood off to the side beside his father. He was tall for his age, with his mother’s steady gaze and his father’s quiet fire. A reporter had once said he looked like a boy with a story written into his bones. They weren’t wrong.

Jaron sprawled in the dirt, defeated. Part of her wanted to smile, to claim the moment as a victory. But the truth coiled tight in her chest: this wasn’t over. For every wolf she’d silenced today, another would step forward tomorrow. The door creaked open behind her. Silas emerged, the faint light from within catching on the scar that cut across his cheek. He closed the door softly, then leaned against the railing a few steps down. Neither spoke at first. The night hummed with crickets, the faint rush of a river in the distance. Finally, Silas broke the silence.

Johnny glanced at her once. Then again. But he didn’t speak. Because for the first time— He didn’t know what to say. And for the first time— Silence wasn’t safe anymore. It was breaking everything.

They’re seeing only one side of the story… Silas's meticulously crafted narrative. Silas continues, each carefully chosen word a dagger piercing Elijah’s reputation. He speaks of ‘high-end prostitution,’ mentioning specific details that make my blood run cold. The picture he paints is damning… an image of Elijah as a callous manipulator and a predator. I want to scream, to shut off the television, to erase this vile portrayal of the man I love. But I can’t. This is war, and Silas has just fired the first shot. His smug smile on the screen is a sickening taunt. I know it’s a lie, a weaponized distortion of the truth, but the damage is already done. The image is out there now.

Slowly, my eyes closed up and I drifted into slumber while the sound of combat continued in the background until it was swallowed up in my subconscious. Joash I stood in the ruins looking from right to left. On this great day I conquered my father. I shut my eyes and allowed reality to dawn on me. Silas is also dead. I felt a little pain in my chest as I remembered Silas. Apart from. Vera’s killer darts, I remembered how he was mercilessly beaten by his father's men. I felt sorry for him. I didn't know that he was suffering so much in his father's hand. I thought he was enjoying the life of a Prince alongside his ruthless father.

Her father was seated in in his mini study looking at God-knows-what. Lauren took a deep breath to calm her nerves, “I am not getting married.” She stated matter-of-factly expecting a second outburst from him but nothing came. Just silence. Eerie silence. “I said, I. Am. Not. Going. To. Get. Married.” She reiterated, punctuating each word. A low growl escaped his lips, like he was supressing his rage or something. Then, he threw a newspaper at her, “Perhaps, if you hadn’t been all slutty, you wouldn’t.”

We talked and Silvy giggled then we would make out again. Silvy told me during one of our talks Silvy told me that I was only allowed to kiss her from now on. The look on her face when I told her she is the one woman I have kissed in years besides the kisses on the cheek I give the ol’e ladies. She did not believe me at all. Her eyes looked like they were going to pop out of her head. “ Goof, don’t lie to me. I have see you with at least a hundred skanks over the years. And a few one nighters.” she said. “ Babe, have you ever known me to lie to you?” I asked. Silvy shakes her head no. “ So you know I am not lying now. You have seen with more women than I want to admit to. Not my finest momen

Silent. Staring at her with those dead eyes. More seconds passed. The air in the room felt wrong. Too thick. Too cold. Carmina took a step backward without meaning to. Then another. Her back hit the door. "Killian," she whispered. Nothing. The silence was worse than shouting. Worse than violence. It was the silence before something terrible happens. Carmina's heart was hammering in her chest. Her hands shaking so badly she could barely hold her cane. "Say something," she said.

Seeing the lines of comments scrolling by, I stayed calm, expression unreadable. Since I was little, I'd known the truth: everything in this world was a lie. All of us were just characters in a story, made for someone else's amusement like toys. Because of that, I'd grown up lonely and strange and ended up with selective mutism. I didn't think much of it myself. It was only my mother who suffered, always trying to make me happy. "Let go of me! That old man only broke his leg. He can still move his hands. Why can't he be our goalie? And anyway, he wanted to exercise himself—"