Search Stories Novels & Stories

“ we have eighteen minute left, we goanna be fast. Anyway this is the last one” We took the envelope side the bag, we opened it “The building that has most stories” “ what do they mean by that “ “well every building always have a story, like the house we living in it was where my Granny had sex” Annabel blabbed “ eww seriously not that kind of story” Abigail squeeze her nose “Well what it mean a building with stories” “ yea, how do you expect us ……….the library, it the library” “ it filled with different stories” we said to together pointing fingers to our self.

“Someone discreet. Someone who understands hospital systems.” There is a pause as he listened to the voice on the other end. “Yes. Domestic abuse cases. Private wards. Unreported incidents.” Another pause. “No,” Ethan said softly. “I need it documented.” He ended the call and leaned back, exhaling slowly. He wasn’t angry anymore. He was focused. Somewhere in the city, a man believed he’d won by force. Ethan Reed would teach him what happened when violence met patience. And when money meets truth. And if there's one more game he has to play, which he hates so much... It's to meet up with an old time frenemy. Bill Benson. The Benson's First son.

A man hit by a car in New York in 1977 got up uninjured, but lay back down in front of the car when a bystander told him to pretend he was hurt so he could collect the insurance money. The car then rolled forward and crushed him I don't own any of this stories. I found them in some creepy books. I'm thinking of writing my own scary stories, but not anytime soon. You can send me your short stories for a feature if you feel like it. Thanks for reading. Enjoy!

she said. “I thought that it wouldn’t be as busy as it was in San Francisco but its crazy busy as well. I think people in this country care more about political drama than anything else. Eighty-nine percent of the news content is just politics, politics, politics. I am yet to decide if that’s a good thing or not….” “How about your co-workers,were they friendly?” Her mother asked. “Yes, everyone was friendly,” She lied. Natasha knew that telling her mother about the antagonistic and villain-like Luyando would only make her have unnecessary worries. “I know it’s just the first day but I think people aren’t as scheming as they were back home.”

He let out the friendliest of smiles, making Anderson very uncomfortable. Anderson stared back and forth between Suit and the scroll. His mind was racing. The contract sounded simple enough. Straightforward, but he did not understand. ‘What did he mean by survive the stories? Did he not say I was going to tell a story? What does survive the story mean?’ Question after question popped up into his head. He could not help himself. He had no idea exactly what it meant, but one thing was for certain; He would not move forward if he did nothing but constantly question the situation

He asked like a pissed man . I gulped hard thinking of what to say, then I thought of saying rubbish. "The thing is I .. I.. saw ...your g..grandmother in my dream I .. I mean my grandmother and she was telling me some fables and fairly life stories that —always spur me up so I got tied down and lost track of time.." He scoffed and dipped from his drink "Do you really want me to fire you right now?" I felt a bang in my head. No I certainly can't loose my job for the 11th time.

She nodded and then turned to me and said, “then why don’t you incorporate both into what you wish to show us?” Adding both together? That wasn’t an impossible request, but it wasn’t something I had quite prepared for. Still, I had to impress them so I quickly thought up something on the top of my head. Taking the centre of the stage, I took a quiet but deep breath in, as I had learned to do many times during practice. Then, with a clear voice, I spoke out some lines, “if there is a story to be told, why should I not be the one to tell it? Do we all not have that choice to tell our own tales?”

His face is even more puzzled. If you’re wondering how casual currently we are, even though we ended last night on an awkward note, well… I explained it. Usually, in stories, they just skip to the next day/ chapter as if nothing happened, but NO. IT’S NOT LIKE THAT AT ALL. How I wish it was. I have to thoroughly explain EVERYTHING. Even the finger-partner part. Good heavens, they don’t know about that! Why? IT’S BECAUSE THEY DON’T DO IT! I can’t believe it. They go straight to the point; no foreplay! What a sad world this is…

A new post from the same anonymous account. "That was just the beginning. Over the next few days, I'll be posting more of Lila's stories. Stories about other guys at school. You might even find yourself in one of them. Stay tuned to see just how perverted Lila Richmond really is." My hands were shaking. This person did not just have one story. They had multiple stories. Stories about different people. I had written so many over the past year. Stories to process my confusing feelings. Stories about Ryan. Stories about Derek before I knew him. Stories about random guys I found attractive. Stories that were never meant to be read by anyone.

*Next Collection* **Story Synopsis** Nineteen-year-old Lisa discovers her married neighbor’s hungry eyes on her through the open bedroom window each sweltering summer night. Instead of hiding, she lets the forbidden thrill pull her deeper into a silent, shadowy game of temptation. What begins as distant stares slowly spirals into something far more dangerous—until one night the line between watching and touching finally breaks ***** Lisa's Pov ... I’d just gotten home from a late shift at the campus coffee shop, my tank top clinging to my sweaty skin and my tiny denim shorts riding up my ass like a second skin.