Tales From A Broad An Unreliable Memoir Novels & Stories

I answer. He watches me closely, searching for cracks. “I was institutionalized,” I say. “Years ago. Not for long. Not officially, in the way people imagine. But long enough to understand how easily a narrative can be imposed on you.” His brow furrows. “What kind of narrative?” “That you’re unreliable,” I say. “That your memory is suspect. That your emotional responses are… inconvenient.” His hands curl into fists at his sides. “My memory isn’t… consistent,” I continue. “There are gaps. Days that feel like static. Conversations I remember emotionally but not factually. I don’t always trust what I recall.”

I am into Kevin though. And that’s the problem. I tried my best not to fall for anyone in high school. I figured if I could move away for college before having a relationship things would be so much easier. But even though I tried my best, I ended up catching feels. I’m not even really sure what it is about him that I’m into. He’s average height with dark hair and eyes. He wears glasses, because of course he does. And he is probably a touch on the spectrum given his insane ability to remember every detail from every movie he’s ever watched.

He believed in the fact that hard work is the key to success which Keith Jonas didn't really agree to but obviously always had to pretend to. Mr. Paul was a person who was hard to please and he never trusted anyone easily. But Keith somehow managed to gain his trust within the time period of 5 years. Yes. 5 damn years. Keith was one of the most trustworthy person of Mr. Paul after his son. But deep down he felt something strange about Keith. Something odd. “I calculated the revenue for this month but I saw a difference of 500$ in the total amount.” “But... I’m the one who calculates the revenue for each month... why did you bother Mr. Paul” Keith hesitated and turned his face towards the sho

“Every time things start to go well for her... something goes wrong. Whether it’s getting hurt or getting sick—it’s always something.” Brianna’s mind drifts back to when Carol first came to live with them at their grandparents' house. She was a quiet, lost child, her mind scattered with fragments of memories she could barely piece together. She would talk about events that had never happened, crafting detailed stories so vivid that even adults had a hard time believing they weren’t real.

Samantha's with me, I didn't want to risk her life but, with what happened a while ago, she's at risk. The memories were still hunting her every time she hears gunshots and things involving violence she would space out or hallucinate. She panicked a while ago and now, she's sleeping on my shoulder. I guess the past was still a dark room for her, it left her unhealed scars. She couldn't let go of it. I was like her when my parents died. The scenery I witnessed kept on bothering me every time I closed my eyes but a mafia boss couldn't be weak, so I tried my very best to remove those memories from me and finally move on from it.

Anjana: Sure Bhabhi! Though, Anjana was good at cooking, but, whenever she goes her in-law's place, her cooking style gets worst. It may be due to the mental pressure of her in-laws or something else, but, it happens most of the time. The same happened that day. The mutton kebab which she was supposed to prepare got worst than she ever expected. And later what happened with Anjana was really unexpected.

The third one tasted like nothing at all and I stared at the wood grain and tried to remember the last time I’d felt like a person instead of a crime scene that people kept walking through with opinions about the evidence. It was a Wednesday. I’d gone to two classes. Sat in the back of both. Taken no notes. The words on the board – narrative displacement, unreliable testimony, the construction of memory as a literary device – had floated past me like subtitles in a language I used to speak. Professor Chen hadn’t pulled me aside this time. She’d looked at me from her desk with the expression of someone who’d already asked the question and received an answer she didn’t believe and had decided

He stopped mid-sentence, realizing just then that it was difficult to bring up what he had done. My heart was cold even as I watched him avert his eyes in embarrassment. Of course I remembered—the way he looked at me in disgust and every insult he slung at me before he finally abandoned me. All my delusions of family affection vaporized right then, but I pretended not to remember. I creased my brows as if it took me some effort to recall.

"Maia, are you really this stupid, or are you just acting? Someone could sell you out, and you'd still be there thanking the person who did it." His tone had shifted. It wasn't playful anymore. A cold chill began to creep up my spine. This wasn't some kinky game. He wasn't joking. "W-What do you want? Why did you tie me up?" "What does it look like? I caught myself a prime piece of meat, and I'm going to get a good price for it." A prime piece of meat. A good price. Suddenly, every horror story I'd ever read about women vanishing in remote areas flashed through my mind.

Ashly was sitting alone in the meeting room. She was so sunk into the book she was reading. It's been a month since Monika left, and it's not like Ashly didn't feel bad when Monika cried in front of her, but what she can do She never likes to share her things with others. And it's not a bad thing because, apparently, her husband is also the same. Well, talking about now, she was reading a book called "The History of the Mafia Kingdom", when Zia entered the room.