Making Out Stories Novels & Stories

She repeated her earlier question. I'm staring at Nate with barely hidden amusement with an underlying annoyance. "Wow, Nate. You should consider a career in storytelling. The fiction side" He still isn't looking at me. If he were to fabricate a story, does he have to make me look like a fool in it?

I hesitated a little and then I broke into a sob as I tore a tissue quickly and held it over my face like I was actually crying. Well, I had been right at the start when she entered because she was suddenly over the door as she looked down on me looking a lot like she was confused. She asked me what the problem was and I told her that I did not want to bother her with something as frivolous as that. This was my way of making the gossip sweeter. You see, when trying to sell a story, the more you hide away, the more the person involved would want to know more. It was a way of drawing them out totally that I had come up with in just a short time all thanks to her easy predictable behaviour.

It was then he got caught by my Mom to be cheating on her. It was a big blow for my Mom because several times he had promised to end the relationship but only for her to find out after a few months that the mistress was transferred to another house only. I was tired seeing their relationship fall apart. And that is why, here I am in a convent trying to have some peace of mind and saving myself from possible heartaches in the future. I don't believe in fairytales anymore. For lovers, it's only once upon a time they were happy, then they end. So here is my story.

Wiping off the little trickles of tears that fell whilst she laughed, she turned to a stunned Julian. "oh please don't mind me. I just wonder how my life became this pathetic." She smiled and Julian shook his head before walking away. .. .. By morning, Talia had jumped out of bed and was already out of the house. Her day was packed and right now, she was painting in front of the camera. It was a piece to be portrayed at the Imperial Vault gallery by next week, but her staff had suggested they covered it for content creation purpose. Just a snippet of it.

he pounced back with a kela! “Yes he knows,” I responded. And then I told him about the night when I had that insightful conversation with my elder brother. For a moment, the insight flashed in front of my eyes: For the greatest story-tellers, telling their story is their deepest yearning. It’s their way of life. “And what about Mahideo? Have you told her?” he said, and started walking towards the gate. “She knows that I love writing stories. Isn’t that good enough?” “No, because she thinks this is just one of your whims,” he shot back. I needed a change in the topic. I didn’t like the way he was pestering.

And I felt that they wanted to leave already and ran as fast as they could. Embarrassment was written on their faces. But I eased those by shaking my head. I told them I wanted it as much as they did. Marhenry hesitated still, so I continued. I added that I made a hole in my underwear for them, that I expected they would pay me a visit in my bedroom which they did. Marhenry finally took what I said and brought back his face to my wetness. I swear he just ate me so fucking good that I exploded in my mouth.

he said. She told him. The stories that survived. The communities that built record-keeping in narrative because institutions failed them. The specific, living practice of keeping things true by telling them. He listened. Completely. “Your stream and my unit,” he said when she finished. “Are having a conversation they didn’t know about,” she said. “Until now,” he said. “Until now,” she agreed. He held her gaze. “We should build something,” he said. “What kind of something?” she said.

Still in that strange hyped attitude, they zoomed right into catch-up as soon as she'd taken a seat. They asked her where she'd been, how she'd fared during the two weeks she was gone. It was tough answering these without giving any weird details. She had to mega-edit her story excluding Calix entirely, covering up holes as she went. All the while her palms were sweaty. She could barely sit still. She tried to deliver some jokes and laughs, but being this level of fake made her want to scoop her brains out with a rusty spoon. Especially since they were probably only being upbeat to spare her feelings.

“Make ‘em slow down. Make ‘em look. Make ‘em wonder.” Bob shook his head, but he was smiling. “You lot. Never do anything simple.” After he left, we sat in a comfortable silence, the kind that needs no filling. Arthur broke it. “You realize what we’ve done, don’t you? We’ve moved from writing the story, to building the story, to now… landscaping the story. We’re curators of our own legend.” “It’s a nice legend,” Chloe said. “Has a good ending. Everyone’s employed. No one’s getting sued.”

I was crouched on the floor of my tiny apartment, half-heartedly wiping dust off the baseboard like it was the most important task in the world. “Because I have a shift to cover,” I lied. I didn’t have work that day, but there was no way I was telling her the truth. The truth was that every time I saw Greg, my body reacted in ways that made me want to do something I would definitely regret later. “But you’ve been missing so many family events lately,” she continued, softer now. “Richard thinks you’re avoiding him.” I almost laughed. If only she knew I was avoiding her husband’s younger brother because I kept imagining him bending me over the dinner table every time we were in the same room.