Realistic Fiction Novels & Stories

He had a cigarette balanced between his lips, and his arms were slung around two different women. The women had slipped their hands into his collar and under the waistband of his pants. Ethan looked immensely pleased as he boasted, "The Morenos are all idiots. I was able to get them to believe me just because I came up with a tragic backstory for myself. They even forced Matthew to give me money when I told them that I wanted to further my studies." He then went on to explain the abduction and finger-severing incidents that he orchestrated himself. Frank and Nadia felt as if their strength had fled their bodies after they finished watching the video. Their normally straightened backs were bo

My face suddenly brightened when I tasted them. "These are so good," I said, and he just smiled. "Auggie, where are your parents?" "They are abroad. Sometimes, it is very lonely that I am all alone here." I suddenly recalled what happened last night. I thought I was going to die. I thought God already granted my wish of living in The Yarn. I call it that way because my fictitious world is like tangled yarn. You have to untangle everything just to discover what has been hidden. You are probably thinking that why I prefer to live in fiction. Unlike reality, you could create your own plot. It is like writing a story. You have to think about the sequence of events for you to create a story that

Someone inside seemed to ask a question, and then: "Well, of course he's only having fun with her! Joseph's always been in love with that girl, from when we were in high school together! We were all roaring for him to go for it! I mean, can you imagine any girl saying no to this pretty face? But he was so serious about the whole thing, it was unbelievable! No experience, he said! No experience flirting with girls, or being in a relationship… or having sex! He simply refused to court that girl until he was sure he wouldn't mess things up… and that's why he picked up some other woman for a few years: it's all just for practice!" "And now, guess what? The girl of his dreams will be returning fr

Each song is healing. I write in the mornings. At the kitchen table with coffee and notebooks. Fiction at first. Made-up stories about made-up people. But slowly, the truth creeps in. Our truth. The bond. The trauma. The survival. "Are you writing about us?" Lucian asks one morning, reading over my shoulder. "Fictionalized. Changed names. Different setting." I bite my lip. "Is that okay?" "It's your story too. Write it however you need to."

He was laughing. " Not at all... You know if I don't sleep for two nights then the third day I can even sleep while standing. " " This is too much, you are kidding me. " " Trust me, If I sleep all of a sudden under that condition and if anyone asks me anything, I start behaving as if I am drugged or given the medicine so that I can only speak the truth. I would even admit that I murdered someone if I really had. I mean to say that I lose control over my mind. And the funniest part is, that I won't remember anything about it when I get up. " he was looking at me with surprise and then he burst out laughing.

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION NAMES, CHARACTERS, BUSINESS, PLACES, EVENTS, AND INCIDENTS ARE EITHER THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHORS IMAGINATION OR USE IN A FICTITIOUS MANNER. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO AN ACTUAL PERSON, LIVING OR DEAD, BUSINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALS IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL. PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME "Funny how you think I fell into your trap," He said laughing.

Confused but felt something at the same time. Your output, it's-- "Fiction, a work of imagination. An exaggeration of reality sometimes opposite to it. It's like playing with reality trying to make it more ideal and dream-like. " After that, Craig take his seat and continue writing in his notea leaving everyone more confused and dumbfounded.

It is a moment captured from the protagonist's narrative, a moment where they engage in a profound dialogue with themselves, exploring the intricacies of their desires, fears, and ambitions. As you immerse yourself in this self-talk, you will uncover layers of the protagonist's psyche, witnessing the tug-of-war between dreams and doubts, between contentment and the pursuit of more. This conversation serves as a pivotal moment in the protagonist's evolution, shaping their understanding of self and their place in the world. Through this intimate exchange, we invite you to ponder your own inner dialogue, to reflect on the complexities of human nature, and to explore the universal themes of long

Either I’m losing it…Or I’m not. And somehow, neither option feels comforting. I drag in a slow breath, trying to ground myself. “Maybe It’s just your imagination,” I whisper out to myself. Because that would make the most sense. It has to. Because the alternative? The alternative is that I’m not imagining anything at all. And that thought… That thought is enough to make something cold slide down my spine. So I choose logic. I have to. Because if I don’t then I’m just blurring the lines between my reality and the things I write. God knows I spend more time inside the fictional worlds I create than I do in the real one.

I had to have done that before, especially in a more reserved place. Zylah had only believed it because she was crazy, and had a great tendency to wish her literary novels were real. Even if I were lying, she would create a world based on my information, just to have a parallel reality in which to live. Even if she was suffering from vomiting, even if she felt the energy in the air, she still had a hallucinated glow in her eyes. The way she was when she started a new book and swore with her feet together that her favorite characters were real people and that she just didn't know them because she was an ordinary human.