Storyteller Novels & Stories

"I never wanted you to. "You know, when you eat something delicious, your eyes light up like the sun. "When you hear a song that you like, you sing along, just a little off-key, but it's so adorable to me." I was stunned, not knowing what to say. He continued, "These precious memories I have of you are the best thing I could ever get in return." That day, I told him everything that had happened with me and Horace. Not in our past lives, but in this one. What happened in our past lives was just a dream, after all, and it wasn't worth mentioning.

The guy was not taking a hint and blocked our path. "Come on, let's be friends! My name's Wilson Cobb. I deal in real estate. How about you give me your digits, beauty?" Christina's brow creased with distaste. I stepped in front of Christina, fixing him with an icy stare. "Buzz off." "Whoa! You've got some nerve, kid!" Wilson looked me up and down with a sneer. "Do you even know who I am, talking to me like that?"

She picked her black purse, car keys and phone and next she was zooming off towards the office. "He'd be here soon." her staff reported and she exhaled as she sat behind her desk. Mr. George Graham was a popular museum curator and this time, it wasn't Ethan's connection that attracted him. It was her work. He followed her story on I*******m. He was wowed by her. Okay, the Reeds did play a part in this, because if they didn't recognize and invest in her, all these won't be happening. The knock finally came. The door was gently pushed open, her staff walked in first. A middle aged tall man followed behind. A little smile lighting his face. She stood immediately.

My name is Emily, and I’ve always been the good girl. Straight A’s, captain of the debate team, the one who volunteers at the animal shelter on weekends. At 22, I’m in my final year of college, majoring in literature, dreaming of becoming a writer someday. But beneath that polished exterior, there’s a secret side of me—a side that craves the forbidden, the filthy, the kind of pleasure that makes your toes curl and your mind shatter. And it all revolves around him: Professor Adrian Black.

There would be nothing left but emptiness. After that, my father never showed up again. One day, Little Zoe came home carrying a letter and a cake. My mother showed me the letter. It contained the address of the house my father had promised, along with a bank card that had two hundred million dollars in it. We did not move there. We never touched a single cent of that money. The following winter, I saw news from Harbor City on television. Rowan Xanders, a prominent entrepreneur, had died at the age of twenty-nine from an old injury.

“I told you, I won’t force you.” “But we must, I mean we can’t fake the-” “We’ll mark each other. It'll be enough to sustain our story. I know how you feel about it, but the mark will fade away eventually. We'll renew it once in a while.” By the end of this talk, he was only in his underwear. A small whimper escaped my mouth causing me to slap a hand over it. His laugh filled the room. Despite the turmoil of emotions that were ravaging my mind, I couldn’t deny the fact that his body was nothing less than perfect.

(Dahlia POV) “Dahlia…” “Yes?” I open the stove. Put the pan on fire and the oil is starting to heat that makes a sizzling sound. “The story that I tell you is not fiction.” I smiled at what I heard. “If a writer is as invested as you are in her story, she’ll surely get a lot of readers. Can you narrate it again Grandma? I almost feel like believing in your old story.” “Tss. I’m not joking around. I’m warning you.”

They were a passing thing. Yanta looked at the notices that were hanged on the notice board. The notices read: “Darrish Drinkwell, our greatest storyteller, is returning to scene with a second tome of his Tales Untold. The Hartin and Dartin Company are planning to publish a legend book. We will ask Drinkwell to write one more, if he accepts, well, you know the rest. Plan in advance, good folk; this is an opportunity unlike any other. You won’t cheaper copies that ours.

Yeah, I followed him. After an hour of staring at each other, the walls and ceiling, he spoke up. "Tomorrow is my parents death anniversary." I shifted uncomfortably. Hearing stories like this are really boring to me. You're probably thinking that I'm a psycho but that's how I roll. A tear slipped down his face.

"It's embarassing enough that I said all that." He stopped covering his face and smiled. "Thanks for apologizing, Crimson. It's true that I didn't want to talk about my illness, but it's not because I didn't want you to know about it. I'm just not ready to tell anyone about it yet. It isn't life threatening, so don't worry about me dying." I sighed and sat down. "Then you gotta promise me you aren't gonna die until you tell me about it, alright?" "Yeah, I promise, but you gotta tell me about yourself too."