Sometimes Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction Novels & Stories

“You don’t remember your past, do you?” “I, uh…” To be honest, my childhood memories were quite fuzzy to me. “Sometimes, the truth is stranger than fiction,” Evelyn said. I felt a shiver run down my spine. She may just be right.

Chance and intent worked together. People like Thora imagine that truth is a shield. It wasn’t. Truth needed context and allies and, often, quieter deaths. Stories, however, were blunt instruments. You could throw a simple narrative into the world and watch it do the heavy lifting for you. People tidy complexity into a headline and call it understanding.

And above all… do your best to speak only truth, or the Game will know. Lies are the currency of the damned. ] Farrah took a deep breath as she carefully read the rules. This was her lifeline after all. She had basically just died from the car accident, and she didn’t want to die again. If there was a chance of survival, she might as well cling to it. Still, she couldn’t help but feel nervous. This simply felt too unreal. “This is insane…” she whispered. “It’s a nightmare. It has to be.”

“I am asking because, you are very strange and am really confused. You know too much, you are acting obsessively. You live a double lifestyle. What if your other lifestyle is a lie? The one you act as Jake and as seamus. What if it’s a lie? What if your real name isn’t Jake De Walter?” I asked, staring into his eyes. Jake held my gaze without a wavering eye. He looked like he was doing a lot of thinking. He smiled, leaving the bed.

I laughed nervously. His mouth twitched with a flicker of amusement. “Some might say so. Others talk about seeing werewolves padding through the woods."He looked at me seriously, “you’d be surprised of what’s real, Saxa. The truth is often stranger than fiction.” I take a step back, unease gnawing at my gut. “You’re joking.” He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Are you sure? The night has a way of revealing things that we try to ignore.”

, he normally continues to take sips from his coffee after pissing the hell out of me. Why the fuck did I react? "Your case is strange, indeed", he says. "This is the first time when the truth isn't supporting me. You know the truth is my biggest weapon. I have always believed that each truth has at least one lead. Even if a lie has ten leads to take on, just one lead from the truth is enough to beat ten leads of a lie", he intensely looks into my eyes while grunting. It gives chills down my spine. My throat feels dry. I gulp down and look away from his eyes.

She thoughts she has won because she shouted at him and filled his ears with rumours from jobless people who made gossiping their daily routine as if they will get millions of money or awards for each rumour they made. Rumours are true, people will not see a fire without smoke, they will never say what they didn't see or happened, the problem is they will add a huge portion of lies to it; five per cent of truths they saw or happened and ninety-five per cent of lies, big lies. And the strangest and funniest thing about rumours is that people tend to add their own exaggeration; lies as they gossipped or passed to another person, that person will add his/her own exaggeration; lies and passed to

Back in the Falco estate. Her theories would sound absolutely insane and delusional to strangers who knew nothing about her and the Falcos. But I'd give her the benefit of the doubt. Of course. The last thing I wanted to do was betray her trust. So, yes. I believed her. But only some of the things she said. The other things sounded bloody bonkers. Then again, some would say, "Reality is stranger than fiction." There must be some lick of truth in her stories. No matter their origins.

‘Of course it can be true,’ Helen said, and thereby: the truth. The egg cooker kept roaring. Water kept creeping through the door, and the officers kept looking disappointed. Most people don't actually want to hear what’s true. They cannot stomach it, and when they're served a slice of it, they get nauseous. The truth about the night of the 25th was exactly of this sort, even for Helen. Probably the worst truths are those you have to hide from your own mind, and this one she was desperately trying to hide from hers. ‘Do you need anything else?’

I heard once that fact is stranger than fiction, and even though I felt like I was in the middle of some sort of strange, surreal dream, the facts were all there. I’d met a man in the middle of the street in the dead of night. He’d just appeared out of nowhere. I’d taken him home, slept with him, and then woken up to his accusations that I was taking pills to hide my wolf. My mother corroborated his story and told me her back story. It was unbelievable on the surface—I mean, come on—but I had no choice but to believe it. Both stories lined up in an uncanny way. I could deny it all I wanted, but there had to be some truth to it.