Real True Life Stories Novels & Stories

He insisted I crouch by the door to listen to their voices. "On October 6th was Xavier's birthday. I summoned the courage to tell him the truth, but he said he would only listen if I finished all the cream on the cake on the table. He knew I was allergic to cream and couldn't eat any." ... The notebook contained records of events from nearly four years. With every page I read, my body temperature dropped, and countless images flashed through my mind, like someone stabbing me with a knife, causing excruciating pain. It was him, the man I dreamed about, Xavier Quinn.

“And if the world is watching, maybe it’s time they see what healing actually looks like.” He smiles. “Then let them watch.” *********** The final headline I read before bed isn’t about the trial. It’s not about scandal. It’s simple. SURVIVORS TURN TRAGEDY INTO TRUTH I close my laptop. Alex wraps an arm around me, warm and steady. Inside, peace settles,earned, imperfect, real. We didn’t just survive. We chose to live out loud. And the world listened.

I had been breathing for so long, that I had completely forgotten and overlooked how it felt to be actually alive, and survive, in the wilderness of the world. While I know that so many people will surely demand me for an explanation, there would only be three people in my life that deserve to hear my side. And that, in fact, I would be glad to offer as I have come to the realization that not all people I have encountered were real ones. Some were only meant to be a casual colleague, some were only meant to be a hookup, while some were only meant to be a common acquaintance. There were only few people who truly deserves to know the real me, and to hear my most rational and sensible explanati

I gave him a nod signaling him to tell mom the truth. "Mom. . . t-there's something I need to t-tell you," he shuddered. "What is it honey," she said looking puzzled. "You're gonna want to sit down," I said. She dropped her purse on the floor and came to sit next to me on the couch. "Well, I'm waiting," she said. "Uh, you remember Hailee right, Vanessa's friend?" he replied. "Yeah, what about her?" "Um, me and her. . .we've been having. . .s-sex," he muttered.

That I was okay all alone. But the truth is, I was not alone! I was lonely...I was always lonely. I didn't need people in my life, because I was afraid of losing them. And happiness? I didn't deem it necessary, because I doubted, that I even had a chance of being Happy; ever in my life. But then I realized, that all I was ever doing was lying to myself. I had always lived a "LIFE OF LIES". We all deserve to be happy in our lives. We all need people in our life...People that love us, without wanting anything in return.

Something that is not offensive but is a turn on both mentally and physically' 'Do you think that that story is true? 'I don't know, probably, but even if not its almost certain to be based around a real event, I know my stories always are.' 'You write. Where do you get the ideas?' 'As I've just said, my stories are embellishments of real events. Do you fantasise?' A little hesitancy but Julia answered 'Yes. Doesn't everyone' 'I certainly do. My fantasies are always about real people and start in actual situations I've been in. It's the same for my stories.'

Something irreparable, but coverable: with smiles, with pretty looks, with good gestures. She doesn't lie, she hides the truth. She doesn't say anything, and she yells a lot in complete silence. She is the absolute image of the controversy. The good, which must be bad by nature. The beautiful thing, that it is completely broken. The strength, which has weaknesses. The quiet girl with books and loud music, who goes out to a party to get high. The promiscuity, that she does not like to kiss. The life that is not real. The life that is invented. The life that must be lived out of obligation. The fake life she invented in her dreams to survive.

I tried remembering details, no, they only asked for my email. "No" I mumbled and he stared at me confused. "It's not possible, you must have given out your number" he said. "Maybe because I'm a scholarship student" I said and he paused. "Scholarship student?" He queried staring at me strangely. "Yes" I answered. "The school doesn't offer scholarships" he dropped the bombshell and my mouth went wide open in shock. What???

“When you tell a story you are setting a contract with your audience. You don’t say to them ‘Let me tell you something that happened in real life,’ you say, ‘Let me tell you a story.’ People look to stories to give them the things that real life doesn’t.” “Such as?” “In real life your problems are rarely resolved, you don’t get closure on the situations or relationships that have most impact on your life. Your father never explains why he didn’t say how proud you made him. Your ex-wife never apologies for cheating on you repeatedly. Bad people aren’t punished for their crimes and good people go unrewarded for their virtue. We look to stories to give us the closure and the resolution we so de

Harrison grabs me by the shoulder, "There is light out of here, just don't give up. I will go find this Brendan and speak to him. I can't make you any promises, but we can at least fucking try." Every single one of us could live our lives out like a sad sob story. There's more than enough pain to go around for that. But maybe what nobody ever told you is that you don't have to be defined by your broken dreams. I am a living, breathing story. Yes, and I am on the goddamn front page of the newspaper. But nobody else can live my tales like me. They can't tell my story. Not like I can. Living, breathing stories, moving about time and space in endless ways. Don't you think there's some kind of m