Slice Of Life Novels & Stories

Cathy frowns a bit and talks to herself. "Do I snore?" Craig knew from the look on her face that she was thinking if she snoring, he smirked a bit, he resumed his sad face "Of course, you do, they are like music to me, now you left my life, how do I cope?" His tears dropped, and Cathy felt them on her cheeks

Not any of the enormous things. A slice of bread on a counter and one second of a man being a person. I have been saying yes since long before anybody asked me a question.

That fleeing moment of vulnerability felt like a figment of Jeremy's imagination. He went from being flustered to stunned. He watched as Phoebe casually picked at the food on the table and ate with apparent enjoyment. He wondered how someone could change so quickly. His jaw dropped, and he stammered, "P-Phoebe?" Phoebe had a bite of pudding and looked into his eyes, noticing his shock. She said, "I know what you're thinking, but we're all adults, and everyone's life is a mess with a few headaches, right? Dahlia's harsh words won't kill me, so it's not a big deal. I've got work to do later, so I need to eat and store some energy. I need to gear up to face what's next."

“I’m thinking pancakes… maybe even a little chocolate for bribery.” I laughed again, a warm sound that felt like sunlight in the room. “Chocolate bribery? I like your style.” We moved to the kitchen together, Rico carrying our daughter while I prepared the table. The apartment was filled with soft laughter, the smell of pancakes cooking, and the quiet symphony of a life being built one small, beautiful moment at a time. I realized then that this was what I had been fighting for not just survival, not just safety, but this ordinary, extraordinary life that we had claimed for ourselves.

It was ridiculous how a single garment could braid shame and power into something else entirely. The fruit sat temptingly on the tray when I went back. A slice of peach, its juice trembling on the skin. I cut it with my fingernail—no knife, no ceremony—and let the sweetness bloom in my mouth. Warm bread followed, crumbs clinging to my lips like an afterthought.

Susan sighed before taking a sip. “I miss buying bread.” Carla turned her face slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Bread?” “Yeah. Bread. That simple thing, you know? Waking up in the morning, putting on a hoodie, going down to the bakery, saying ‘good morning’ to the baker, complaining about the price of the croissant. Those… banal things.” Carla smiled, but there was melancholy in the gesture. “And now you’re trapped in a mansion of multimillionaire Lycans, with an Alpha who practically growled at the mailman last week.”

To win votes for the school's annual honors award, my stingy roommate picked rotten fruit out of the trash and made it into fruit cups for our classmates. The moment I found out, I rushed to stop them from eating it. Instead, they accused me of being jealous and tore into me for trying to ruin their chances. That very night, they were rushed to the hospital with severe food poisoning. Afterward, my roommate framed me, claiming I had deliberately poisoned the fruit because I did not want her to win the school honors award. She even hid a bottle of pesticide in my locker and convinced our other two roommates to lie for her. With no way to prove my innocence, I became the target of furious

After I unzipped the compressed file, I played the video. In a church that had seen better days, a young man, looking to be about 18, was playing an old piano. The sunlight streaming in illuminated his bleached shirt, causing him to almost glow. The clean, innocent vibe he gave off was like a breath of fresh air, a gentle spring breeze caressing one lightly. Despite only half her face being visible, it was clear from Sylvia's profile that she was smiling gently. Her gaze was also full of adoration as she lost herself in the soothing music.

I can barely eat. Instead, I look out the window. The city moves like it doesn’t care, people walking, cars honking, lights flickering. Life keeps going, even when yours has stopped. My phone sits on the table, screen down. I can’t bring myself to flip it over. Every minute that passes without a call or a text from Daniel feels like another small cut. I sip the wine, slow, the bitterness sitting heavy on my tongue. The glass feels cold in my hand, like everything else around me.

I’m not cut out for this shit. He’s really given up. Properly given up. I open the pizza box and pull out a slice. Leaning back in the chair, I take a bite, but I barely taste it. Halfway through chewing, my stomach growls hard enough to make me pause, and I realise I can’t actually remember the last time I ate properly. A day ago, maybe. More. It all blurs together now. Food’s become another thing I force down because I know I’m supposed to, not because I want it. Nothing tastes the way it should anymore. It’s like someone drained the colour out of the world while I wasn’t looking, and now everything is just there. Flat. Dull. Lifeless.