My 1000th Attempt Worked Novels & Stories

I turned on the machine and reached for a cup, then dropped the lid of the coffee tin so hard it rang against the counter. "Come on," I muttered. I tried again. This time I got the coffee in but spilled half of it, and the machine beeped at me in a way that felt personal. I put both hands on the counter and bowed my head. “Forty thousand shares.” My mother had spent twenty years building a name, and nobody with a blog could shake it in one night. I wanted to scream, and I wanted to throw the cup at the wall. It was so close! "Move."

I counted the numbers out loud with my finger. "Ones. Tens. Hundreds. Thousands. Ten thousands. Hundred thousands." I swallowed. "Millions." I sat there for a full minute just staring at it. Last week, I had twelve dollars and a rejection letter. Now I had more money than my father had made in his whole life. "System," I said, "can you give me more random tasks? Like, a lot more? Every day, maybe?" *Random tasks are random, Host. They cannot be requested.*

I once made a deal with an A-list actor. If I propose to him publicly on livestream 99 times and make sure the whole internet witnesses it, he'll announce our relationship when I propose for the 100th time. When that day finally comes, he's on a private yacht with a rising starlet, smooching her with a lovesick smile on his face. I become the laughingstock online. Guilty about his shenanigans, Cameron Ford sends me a text. "When you propose for the 101st time, I'll finally give you the commitment you deserve." He shows up in a perfectly tailored suit and walks right into my livestream. Right in front of him, I set fire to the 100 proposal letters I once wrote for him, as well as the stom

For three years of marriage, August Cross had perfected the art of managing our marriage. "I can only walk a thousand steps with you each day. Every additional step will cost you $50." At first, I thought he simply hated walking and was using this ridiculous rule as an excuse to avoid walking. Then came this year's Thanksgiving holiday. August, his childhood friend Jolie Allen, and I traveled to Fairmont together. As soon as we arrived, I pulled out the itinerary I'd prepared in advance, ready to visit Crownspire Palace. But Jolie insisted that August accompany her to the theater district instead. "Gemma, you've already used up 999 of your steps for today. I can't walk with you anymore.

For months, I had treated that moment as proof that something was wrong with me. Perhaps I've done the same with every stumble since. “His choice wasn't your failure,” Luna whispered. My throat tightened. “I know.” “Sometimes you forget.” “I'm trying not to.” I stood and brushed the grass from my trousers. “Again,” I told Vera. This time, she smiled. On my sixth attempt, I crossed the trunk. It wasn't graceful. My arms flailed near the middle, and I paused twice to steady my breathing, but eventually my boots reached solid ground on the other side.

I'm not naturally academically gifted. No matter how hard I push myself—staying up until three in the morning only to drag myself out of bed at six—I can barely keep my grades somewhere in the middle of the class. For most of my school life, no one pays much attention to me. That changes three months before the college entrance exam. One day, my homeroom teacher, Victoria Bennett, calls class president Ethan Sterling and me into her office without warning. She looks at me sternly, asking, "Did you cheat off Ethan during this month's exam?" I shake my head. "No." Victoria turns to Ethan. "What do you have to say?" Ethan quietly chuckles. "I was focused on my own test, so I didn't re

I whispered to myself before taking a small step back from the safe. I stared at the glowing Enter button for a long second. Fear crept into my mind as I squeezed my eyes shut. “Come on, Clara… come on,” I whispered under my breath. I swallowed hard, stepped forward again, and pressed Enter. Nothing happened. One second. Two seconds. Then a small breath escaped my lips, as the screen flashed red again. ERROR. TWO ATTEMPTS REMAINING.

My blood slowly starts to simmer with irritation and the room quickly begins to get smaller and smaller. "Are you that naive to honestly believe that someone will pay you One hundred thousand dollars?" He scratches the side of his jaw. "Someone's already willing to pay twenty-five thousand as of this morning," I say in a snarky tone. Twenty-five thousand is a hell of a lot better than the Ten thousand I currently have. I logged onto the dark web last night with Caddies help. She still remembered Aces log in details. Repeating every so often, how he wasn't a complete waste of space after all. It took us forty minutes to set up my profile. And, Twenty-eight attempts to finally get the right li

Fuck. What was it? Think, Mila. You saw him entering that password. Oh my god…. Please, help me. I typed in the code. 7609 It beeped and said you have two tries left. Oh…. No. My fingers trembled. I remembered correctly it was those exact numbers. What the hell… I tried again. 6079 One try left. Tears burned the back of my eyes. And I took a deep breath, my teeth clenched on the insides of my cheek. And I tried again. This should work. Please. Please. Please, god, let this be the one.

Mr Bald head continued, and I swear I wanted to pull my heels and throw it at him. I didn't move an inch as I was trying hard to get my body together, else I would fall to the floor once I stood up. I folded my palm in a fist. I was really dejected. This was my 10th interview this month. I practically lined up interviews for myself every three-days since the beginning of the month, and this was the last on the list. A failure.