Put Me In A Story Novels & Stories

My story is not perfect but I promise to do my best in future and hopefully meet your demands. May you be blessed abundantly, and know that I love you so very much. Lemme know your thoughts about this story, please.

Alfi asked. "Hey, it”s a part of the story. It”s called filler, a short story that doesn’t relate to the main story. Then why did I put it? It”s because I had no idea what to write, so to avoid the reader”s bad review for me slacking off, I decided to put Kiki”s story to attract them." I explained "But why his story? I would agree if it were Herman”s or Kartika”s. Anyway, it”s a comedy fantasy story, right? We just don”t need such an inferior story!" Alfi exclaimed.

“I just received a letter from my mother, urging me to become the Luna. If not, I have to return to that... room.” “I don’t want to go back, Ersa. I can’t spend my days f-fucking men just to earn my keep in our house.” I started trembling at my confession, and the tears I had been desperately holding back finally burst out. How? How do I tell my story in a way someone would actually understand? Where do I even start? What should I do—

I was halfway through my hamburger when I remembered that I still don’t have a dress for tomorrow night, nor do I have any idea what to perform. I finished my food quietly, pushing my brain to its limits in hopes of an answer coming to me. Finally, something popped in. If I’m supposed to perform a story, what better one than my emotions? Telling the story of my desire and obsession for him. Not love. I don’t want him to run off and give me another month of silent treatment. God, if I weren’t so into this man, I’d say he’s insufferable. I shot out of my seat faster than I’d planned. Red and Nathaniel stopped talking to stare up at me.

Then I opened a separate email, added Marcus to BCC, and at the very bottom typed one line: “The story belongs to the truth now. Not to either of us.*” I pressed send and closed the laptop and sat with my palms flat on the table in the dead quiet of my kitchen, heart pounding as everything I had just unleashed began to move relentlessly, unstoppable without me.

Also, check out my first story if you haven't. Cheers, Inky Pen.

I smirked and leaned forward. "Let's get to the point." I rested my elbow on the table. "We need to come up with a story. How we met, how we fell in love.” She crossed her arms and her lips twisted in a mocking smile. “And what kind of story do you have in mind?” “We met outside a cafe.” I began. “Became friends and” “Boring,” she interrupted. “Let’s say you saved me from an accident and took care of me. That’s how we fell in love.”

I told her. "Then what is it? You can tell me anything. I know we have just recently met but you can confide in me. We can talk outside if you don't feel comfortable here." "Let's go to the library," I said. "Start spilling," Amarachi said immediately we got to the library. "Before I start, please promise that you wouldn't judge me." "I promise that I would not judge you. You don't have to be scared about shit. I promise. Amarachi said while holding my hands.

She reassures and I just stare at her. “See, you are the problem. You tell me these stories and then when I repeat the same story to other people they don’t believe me.” I whine as I look at her with annoyance. “Honey, trust me I would love to tell normal stories but you don’t have one and that is what makes you special.” “Well, not all my stories are crazy,” I say as I defend myself. “Okay, I am sorry. So how did you two meet?” she asks with a smirk, knowing that I have a crazy story to tell.

Tension flowed through my body. The only thing on my mind was this: Impress them. The man in the middle picked up my file. “I can see here that you have written several stories. “Yes, sir.” “And you want to work with us?” “Yes, sir.” He leaned back slightly. “Then tell us something, Miss Molley. Why do you think storytelling is important?” For a second, my mind went blank. But then the words slowly returned. “Stories help people understand themselves,” I said. “Sometimes people cannot say how they feel, but they can see themselves in a story.”