Sometimes Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction Novels & Stories

"But you have to understand... none of this feels real. Even if I believe you, it still feels" "Impossible?" he finishes for me, his mouth curving into a bitter smile. "Humans always struggle to accept what they can't explain, even when the truth is staring them in the face." Annoyance flares in me. "Would you believe a stranger if they told you fairy tales were real? That everything you've ever known was a lie?" "I would," he says without hesitation, stepping closer. "If I saw it with my own eyes. Only a fool denies what's right in front of him. And as far as I know, you're not a fool."

The man finally spoke, his voice smooth as silk but laced with steel. “You’ve taken something that doesn’t belong to you.” He said, his eyes narrowing as he took a step forward, “And I’m here to collect it.” Gary’s eyes flicked to me, and he sneered, a desperate laugh bubbling up from his throat, “This girl? She’s mine. I bought and paid for her so she's mine!” The stranger’s expression hardened, and without a form of hesitation, he aimed the gun at Gary’s leg and fired. The sound of the shot echoed through the air, and Gary screamed as he crumpled to the ground, clutching his bleeding leg.

At least I wouldn't have to witness their happy family of four and smell that nauseating mixture of scents. Memories flooded back like an uncontrolled tide. Alex and I had met when we were nobody special. I had supported him through his journey from an unknown programmer to a leading figure in the field of AI. For ten years, we had been the soulmates everyone in our circle envied. The first time, he was drugged by a business rival and slept with Brooke, who was just an intern then. He called me immediately, his voice shaking. "Em, I was set up! I swear on my integrity that this was the only time! I've handled everything cleanly. She'll never appear before us again!"

"Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities: truth isn't." -Mark Twain- *** Cynthia was baffled when Adonis told everyone in the room she was the culprit behind the attacks. She quickly stepped in and denied it. Her brows raised in fury and her cheeks were getting red. Her eyes widened in disbelief, she went back and forth between Adonis, Vian and Greta.

Broke reader, right you could say that. They're my inspiration, motivation and also distraction. I'm an orphan with no one to take care of me, I wasn't that confident in myself. “ Today's red moon. Did you hear that our wishes will come true if we make a wish?” I heard some of my colleagues squealing happily and I just rolled my eyes. Nonsense. Who would believe those kind of words these days? How stupid. I shook my head to get rid of those silly thoughts of my fellow colleagues. Wishes come true? What a bullshit!

I had to be invisible. What kind of man meets a stranger, an anonymous caller, who claims to have information about his wife? What kind of fool does that? Me. I was that fool. But desperation does that to you. It makes you believe that maybe, just maybe, truth can be found in the unlikeliest places. And right now, truth was all I had left to cling to.

"How is it going to pass when someone just woke up one morning and decided to destroy all that I built up with bloody lies, Mum!" She leaned in and wiped away a tear from my cheek. "The truth does not go away just because someone wakes up and tells a lie," she said. "It waits. Waits for the noise to die away so that it can speak again." I sneered bitterly. "That sounds poetic. But it's not the truth that is trending, is it? It's the lies. And my PR team is as useless as the post is. They can't even delete one piece of fake news."

Her shoulders trembled as she covered her face with her hands, muffling her quiet sobs. Zach had been paying her three thousand dollars a month—more than her husband ever earned. But who would willingly trade decades of freedom for a little extra money unless they had no other choice? "I can give you more," I said. "More than what he's offering. All I ask is that you persuade your husband to tell the truth—for his own sake and for my mother's justice. Your husband didn't do it in the first place. The real culprit is still out there, living freely."

"The evidence is everywhere. Cloud servers, encrypted drives, dead man's switches. Even if you kill me, even if you find whoever helped me, the truth will come out." "Truth is surprisingly flexible," Adrian said. "Especially when you have enough money and the right lawyers. By tomorrow, your 'evidence' will be dismissed as fabrications. Deep fakes. The work of a mentally unstable woman with a grudge." "Is that the story you're selling? The crazy ex-wife?"

For now. I was not so much of a stranger in this beautiful landscape, not even a passing visitor in search of what many would call “my hidden truth”. I was bound to these places, but ran as far as I could from them. My truth, the one I held deep inside, hiding from the eyes of the world, was not a dark or evil one. No, I was neither a criminal nor a sinner on any record of wrongdoing. However, my fear came from the raw knowledge that, in the eyes of some, appearances could be deceptive and prejudice could cast evil shadows over reality.