Stories Fiction Novels & Stories

and us. All works of fiction explore what it means to be human. The lightest, fluffiest book, one we consider pure escapism, has us laughing at ourselves. That dark, tragic book walking on the literary side of things has us crying for ourselves. Erotica explores our sexuality. Murder mysteries, our need for order and justice. Romances, the ways we come together to form a new bond, a new family. Stories that purport to be about a different time—Star Trek, anyone?—are really about how we’re navigating today’s problems. And stories that seem to be about nonhumans—werewolves, vampires, demons—are still really all about us.

“No that’s not what I’m saying at all, I’m asking what you know about fiction?” “You mean if I want to free a character from a story, I have to follow the rules of fiction.” “And what rules usually apply to fictional rescues from Hell?” “Wait, you said she was trapped in a story, not Hell.” “Both Heaven and Hell are stories that we tell ourselves. They’re ways of coping with our mortality and what comes after.” “I suppose you’re right, that’s why we tell tales about descents into the underworld isn’t it?” “Yes it is.”

No inappropriate implications, no suggestive subtext, no messy drama—only an ordinary family encountering trouble, solving it rationally, protecting each other, and living well. This is the most real, decent, and precious life.

“There are angels and demons in their world, yes, pretty similar to us in appearance. However, unlike us, they are of one or another kind. They are just winged humans with a limited arsenal of power. We on the other side are stronger than their archangels claim to be. Still, they are looking down on us. And sometimes you should give them a lesson. You see, our abilities are of a larger range. Plus this realm can be equally hell or paradise for humans. We can drag them here by signing contracts or by their will. We can make someone’s dreams come true or enslave them and demand a price like all fairies can do.” “And if they escape from here they talk about angels and heaven or demons and hell,

So, the best thing for me to do is to avoid her. People still say stupid things about her. I am already very tired of hearing all the side derogatory comments about her. it is very sickening. People should just learn to stop all this petty bullying. It is not cool at all. I entered the library and I picked a seat at the far end of the library. I picked a literature textbook. Literature has been giving me issues for a while now. I want to really focus on it today. I sat down and started skimming through the textbook. I honestly do not understand what I am reading but I just continued.

“Can we do stuffs that you like? Only in a more subtle way. Me being a beginner and all.” He caressed her hair. “What if you don't like what I like?” “I'm willing to explore.” Gabriel had to smile up at the ceiling. “You said Fola told you about my kinks.” “Yeah.” “So what exactly did that talkative tell you?” “Nothing much. How did he find out?” Gabriel shrugged. “Who knows? Besides, I don't really hide stuffs.” Her voice was shy and tiny as she asked, “Is it like BDSM? I've always wondered what it was like.”

I whispered again. Kissing Tania’s cheek, I gently spoke into her ear. “Are you alright Tania?” She finally stirred, and then opened her eyes. “That was the best experience I’ve ever had, how did you learn to do that?” “Oh, it’s something I read about in an erotic story,” I lied. Putting her arms around my neck, she whispered, “Fuck me, fuck me hard.”

“But how do you want to portray the terms of progress in this?” “I wanted to show a picture of how the idea of storytelling began. It started in different parts of the world and established the commonalities of views in various segments. Stories were created as a product of imagination and vast knowledge. People liked stories because they always had a possible happy ending. It portrayed virtuous leads and ideal societies. With such different roots, stories evolved and today, we’ve come this far in literature because of the introduction of novels.” “That’s correct,” Brett said. “But don’t you think it would be a tiring task for us to clear the questions that would arise in terms of the subjec

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

somebody asked, which made everyone giggle. “No way. If they did, she wouldn’t be walking properly,” another added. In a chorus of laughter, I felt my cheeks darken with barely contained anger. “But for real, it’s being wasted on Scheur,” Margo, a maid I barely interacted with, said. I knew she had a few relationships with other werewolves, never shying from her sexual escapades and retelling stories. “Yeah, if it was me, I wouldn’t only try to date him but use him to better my life. He is rich—use him and raise your power,” she added, which wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t interested in him at all. I had no interest in being with a man like King Baldwin.