Silly Stories Novels & Stories

Shayla resisted longer, peppering me with last-minute questions about whether clouds slept and if frogs had birthdays. Lucas waited until the others were settled before speaking quietly. “Can you tell a story?” Something in his tone—hopeful, vulnerable—unlocked a memory deep inside me. “My mother used to tell me stories,” I said softly. “Would you like one of those?” Three heads nodded eagerly. So I began. I told them about the moon that fell in love with the sea but could never touch it, about the brave girl who taught the stars how to sing, about the fox who tricked winter into leaving early.

Max smiles, “You build blanket forts, you tell jokes, you know how to ballroom dance.” “I don’t tell jokes,” I explain. “Chad said you do. Lucy told him some of the jokes. It made them laugh,” Max replies. Curious, he asks, “Could I hear one?” I shake my head, “It was corny jokes to cheer her up is all. It was, “Why did the scarecrow win an award? Because he was outstanding in his field.” Things most kids hear on a playground.” Max looks disappointed. Taking a deep breath, I say, “A cheeseburger walks into a bar and orders a beer. The bartender says, “Sorry, we don’t serve food here”.”

He looked up when we entered. "Did you tell her?" Kaelen asked Silas. "Not yet." Silas pushed me toward a chair. "Sit. This is an intervention." "An intervention for what?" I asked nervously. "For being too serious all the time," Silas said. Kaelen nodded in agreement. For the next hour, my brothers told me stories. Stupid stories about their childhood. About pranks they'd pulled on each other. About the time Theron got stuck in wolf form for three days. About Corin accidentally dyeing his hair green with an herbal mixture.

Until now, strange short stories had only very short stories. But from volume two I intend to add stories that have 10 to 20 captains as well. These stories are not so long nor have so much visibility as a separated book. For this reason, I decided to move all then into strange short stories, that is already a storybook of different themes.

And so, on and on ,like the osscilation of a pendulum, the disheartening piece of my bio churned while the sands of time dripped slowly and slowly as it watched my narration irks the soul of the spectators. That I thought, but it appeared to be nothing but a blunt lie. It was a revolving piece of gags and laughs. A piece of funny cake, a chunk of interesting cheese, a loaf of an adventurous bread and a real ginger to the spirits of the audience. They applauded.

Sinjin couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun just goofing around. He and the boys had played games like chess, Monopoly, and Scrabble. When they grew tired of the games, they pleaded with him to tell them a story, so he fabricated one from his imagination. It had been so scary that they literally begged him to stop and cowered in fear under their blankets. Taking pity on them, he assured them they had nothing to worry about. While Troy stared at him skeptically, not believing him, Tristan simply grinned and called him an awesome storyteller.

My sundress clung to my skin from the humidity, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide how my nipples had stayed hard since the pool earlier. Tyler grinned wide, already slurring a bit as he slammed back the fresh drink. “Nah, baby, we’re celebrating! Honeymoon rules. Kyle, remember that time in college when you got so fucked up you tried to piss in the RA’s fridge?” He burst out laughing, loud enough that heads turned at nearby tables, slapping his brother on the arm. Kyle leaned back in his chair, that cocky smirk never leaving his face, his eyes locked on me across the table like he could see straight through my dress.

Forbidden stories of kissing and making out would cause huge scandals among the student body, who both felt disgusted and envious of such raunchy encounter details. Needless to say, ofcourse, these stories were overhyped by baseless and false details, often times a kiss in real turned into a messy hot grope on the most tender breasts in the story. Just like rumors seem to flow everywhere in the world,each encounter was lavishly polished with overbearing teenage hormones and fake fantasies injected into them.So each time a rumor was heard, the story progressed until "atleast" there was an older girl's soft breast filling a boy's hungry mouth or a thick finger of an older boy inside a moaning

Some stories started with hate. This one ended with everything.