Never Ending Story Novels & Stories

When Tea was asleep, she dreamt of herself. She saw various scenes of growing up, being bullied by her family and being made to sleep in a dilapidated courtyard. She saw her sisters and brothers having fun, playing and studying while she remained in the same place day in and day out. Then the time came for her to go to the palace and everything happened differently. Instead of singing, she showed calligraphy and the sixth prince picked her in the end.

Shinka chimed, "Or we might fall asleep and then, and then... we will never know how the story ends." "As always..." Shimpi added matter-of-factly. "Okay my dears, lets get on with it then." Terese said smiling throughout. The other girls did not know that Terese had always completed the story even when they had fallen asleep, however, she did not know that Shinja had always stayed awake to the end. Always eagerly listening to the end of the story and she liked how it ended. "In the dim and distant past, there lived a prince. He was young, brave and handsome. He had the purest eyes and fairest hair. He believed in magic..." she was interrupted by a grumbling Shinka.

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.

I had spent years chasing after her, begging for even the smallest piece of her affection. I had cherished her above everything else. A single smile from her had once been enough to make my heart race. But now, all of those beautiful memories seemed to have faded away. What remained was only the bitterness of summer's end. Firmly, I shook my head. "No, thanks." It was all in the past now, and I should let go. The distant voice let out a soft sigh and opened the gate of reincarnation for me. Beyond the radiant doorway stood a little girl holding a teddy bear.

"He always has an excuse." "He doesn't know I'm only seven diary pages away from leaving him." "I got my period today, and the cramps were so bad I couldn't get out of bed. Dexter came home and brought me some painkillers without me asking." "He said it was the same kind he'd gotten for Brianna last time. She said they worked great, so they'd probably help me too." "I said thanks, but no thanks." "One page left. Then I'm done." The last page had only two lines.

Every candle inside the Hall of Readers reignited by themselves. Thousands. Millions. An endless ocean of golden flames illuminated the darkness. Each flame contained a memory. Each memory belonged to someone whose story had once been erased. Children. Kings. Monsters. Dreamers. Entire civilizations flickered inside the tiny lights. Adrian realized something terrifying. None of those stories had truly disappeared. They had only been waiting. The White Book trembled again. A new sentence slowly appeared. "Every forgotten story remembers its author." The Pen of Endings suddenly flew into Adrian's hand.

I never knew the name was my executioner. "You’ve reached the end of the page, Hazel," a voice boomed. It wasn't a sound in the air. It was a thought placed directly into my brain. "Every story needs a finale. And yours is a tragedy." The giant fountain pen descended. The nib was as sharp as a spear, dripping with ink that looked like melted stars. It touched the ground a mile away, and a massive wave of white emptiness started to erase the city. People weren't dying; they were just vanishing. They were being un-drawn.

You are just—tired. Tired, the Hollow repeated. The word seemed to echo through the chamber, bouncing off walls that were not walls. "You have been running for centuries. Resetting. Repeating. Watching the same story unfold again and again. You are exhausted. But you cannot stop. Because stopping means admitting that the original grief was for nothing." The original grief was not for nothing. I was made to hold. To keep. To prevent the ending. "The ending is not the enemy," Clara said. "The ending is what gives meaning to the beginning. A story that never ends is not a life. It is a cage."

I trailed behind them the whole day, never daring to tear my gaze from their smiling faces. By halfway through, I felt numb. … In the afternoon, the toddler asked for ice cream. Luke turned around and went to queue for it. Ramona took the boy's hand, and both of them waited in the shade. He was bouncing a red rubber ball against the ground to kill time. Suddenly, his hand slipped. The ball fell out of his hand and rolled toward me. Ramona was checking her phone. She didn't notice he had lost his toy. The ball rolled to a stop at the tip of my foot.

"We need a way to land!" I saw the "Story" trying to force us into a tragic finale. The momentum of the fall was a narrative choice made by the ghosts of the past. I swung the pen again, the ink glowing like a second sun. "THE ENDING IS NOT WRITTEN UNTIL THE CHARACTER SIGNS."