Silly Stories Mga Nobela at Kwento

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.

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.

Aside from Evelyn, everyone had had a few drinks, their faces flushed, clearly a little tipsy. No one knew who started it, but all of a sudden, the conversation shifted to ex-boyfriends. Some people doubled over with laughter. Others had tears in their eyes. A few stories were so ridiculous that Sophie could barely breathe from laughing. She nudged the only sober person next to her. "Evelyn, what about you?" For a moment, Evelyn's expression went blank. Unbidden, memories surfaced in her mind.

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.

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

Chapter 2 “Okay, here’s the idea,” I continue, my throat dry so I grab my beer for a quick sip, the cool liquid doing nothing to calm the fire starting low in my belly. “We grab a jar or a bowl, whatever’s around, and everyone writes down dares on slips of paper. Dirty ones, the stuff we’d never admit out loud normally. Then we draw one at a time, and whoever pulls it has to do it. We set a timer if needed, but the point is to let go, see where it takes us.”

It's pathetic! He dropped that bomb and strutted off before I could fire back. I could hardly believe my ears that such boneheaded words came from the man I have loved for years. His so-called 'cozy winter promos' were just a table with free cups of cheap black coffee and some giveaway gloves out front. The coffee often went cold, untouched, and those gloves ended up in the street bin. However, Seth, of course, thought they were pure gold. Somehow, I was the one cashing in on Lily's ideas!

Pinky squinted to read it, her eyes tracing the loops and crosses. "Collection of short stories for ladies," the title read. "Stories of desire, of awakening, of the first time." Pinky blinked, her eyes widening as she read on. The handwriting was feminine, secretive, as if the writer were sharing her most guarded thoughts with only the pages. It was a confession. A revelation. As she began to read.