Slice Of Life Fiction Novels & Stories

There was no warmth in the touch, but there was no rejection either. Just contact. Real. Neutral. Maybe that was something. I kept working. Maybe control wasn’t the only way to survive in this dome. Maybe survival was in the little things. Like the sting of onion juice. Or a shared glance. Or doing the work no one asked for. One slice at a time. One breath at a time. The knife clattered against the cutting board. I didn’t mean to slam it. But my hand was shaking. My pulse, too loud in my ears.

he raises an eyebrow in my direction and sighs at my silence, “you seem to have made your life revolve around CF and forget that there is a world beyond the walls of your room” “I had no choice at birth,” I exclaim with exaggerated annoyance and get up abruptly from the chair, causing it to fall but no matter, “you think it's so easy to go out into the world and put my best face forward! No, you don't, you are in good health, while I remain with stupid cannulas in my nose because my lungs are unable to create more oxygen, day by day I think about death and I come face to face with it when I see myself in the mirror” My nostrils are dilated, my breathing accelerated by rage and tears flood my

So many good times where we drank too much, where we shared belly laughs and big steaks off the grill. I’ll miss them, too, and remember them well. But not the same way. Because my life with them was a smoke screen, a carefully constructed lie. And although I got to know some of them and to love them, not one of them ever knew me, not really. They knew only the parts of myself I chose to share, and even some of those things were invention. I’ll remember them as one remembers a favorite film; beautiful moments and phrases will come back to me, move me again. But ultimately I’ll know that my time with them was fiction, as fragile and insubstantial as pages in a book.

Quilton offered me money to help me settle down, but I was too young and unwilling to accept a handout. Thus, Quilton followed me every day, handing out flyers and collecting bottles in the snow. He'd get so cold that his nose would run uncontrollably. Later, when my stepfather tried to steal my tuition money, Quilton got stabbed while trying to protect me. In his daze, he said only one thing. "Let me protect you." After that, it felt natural for me to get together with him. I had once vowed to build a good life on my own, but later on, Quilton gave me that life instead—so much so that I ended up thinking Quilton was utterly devoted to me.

AUTHOR'S POV ~FLASHBACK Sia had started off the university, quite peacefully. She even found a job as a cashier, at the nearest cafe. Even though she had great amount of savings for always working off with which she could have lived her life peacefully, she still opted for keep working. When she was working off in the farm which was near a lake, she had always watched a lake house in the distance, which was probably owned by some rich people.

— It's okay, I have less physical activity than a light bulb so I don't think I'll ever have to go down. He lets out a laugh. — I'm just saying, you'll be here indefinitely so if you get bored go there. I nodded and entered the room. At that moment, I realized that things were changing, all my life they had done so without warning. My life would never go back to normal again. Now I would be living in a building full of unknown people, unable to call home, with someone following me for who knows what. My life changed from any given Sunday family reunion to escaping from a psychotic group with another psychotic group.

I said. My face was pale as death, and a nagging ache twisted in my stomach. It was an old pain that had been with me ever since I spent those three years in that cellar. Every day, I ate stale bread and lumpy mashed potatoes that had been sitting out forever. The bread was so thick and dry that it was almost impossible to swallow. Panic flashed across Henry's face. It was something I hadn't seen in ages. "Sabrina, I swear I didn't know! Do you think I'm lying?" he asked.

She was a ghost in her own life, a broken thing they were tasked with mending. But her mind was not mending. It was shattering. She spent hours staring at the canopy of the bed, tracing the patterns with her eyes until they swam and danced. She heard whispers in the crackling fire, saw Luciano's face in the wood grain of the floorboards. Sometimes she would laugh, a dry, rattling sound that had no mirth. Other times, she would weep for hours, her tears soaking the pillow until it was damp and cold. She was untethered, floating in a sea of grief and madness, with no shore in sight.

An unscrupulous company discharges toxic wastewater into the river, causing my whole family to be poisoned because we rely on that river for survival. Everyone in my family, including my aunts and uncles, lives in the same village. We're all waiting for an urgent antidote delivery to save our lives. My boyfriend is Harrison Somers, and his company is the only one with the antidote. So, I ask him for it. He agrees to come but doesn't show up after a long time. Ultimately, my family members die after being tormented by the toxic wastewater because they don't have the antidote. Meanwhile, Harrison shows up at the hospital with his childhood sweetheart because she accidentally sliced her fin