Telling Funny Stories Novels & Stories

While the teacher read my essay to the class they laughed out loud pointing fingers at me . The laughter intensified when the teacher read the part about me sipping hot cocoa and talking to my golden retriever . Some called me stupid while others said I needed to see a doctor to check if everything was alright in my head . At this point the teacher could not control the class . She gave up and they continued throwing words at me . I was at the brick of tears that was until a guy from behind my chair moved forward and held my hand , he consoled me . He was the first person to do that after Louisiana had left . For the first time I felt someone other than my parents and Louisiana cared . He we

There was one solitary, big book on a low table between them. "The title of the tale is The Binding of Autumn," he began, his voice an entrancing whisper just in harmony with the shriek of the fire. “It's the tale of a harvest god who offers a mortal woman a choice: one night of absolute freedom for one year of unimaginable riches for her people." He didn't move as his eyes met hers. "The consent is the matter at hand. It must be freely bestowed, not coerced, and whispered three times into the skin of his throat." “Do you have any idea what sort of story you're going to be reading me tonight?”

“Well… They just wanted to know.” My lips widened. “Then come closer.” I filled his head with stories that were both true and not, exaggerating my first meeting with Jay. He gobbled everything, eyes wide, gasping when it called for it, and smiling when he felt it was cute. I didn't know I was such a wonderful storyteller until I started spinning the lies. “Wow. I bet they would shed tears just listening to your story,” he said when I was done with my lies disguised as the truth.

“Learn how to take a fucking joke. It was funny, okay? Laugh.” They both let out short awkward laughs that died almost instantly. But I saw their eyes. I knew them too well. They didn’t buy it for one goddamn second. I’d never been the type to tell jokes anyways. Not real ones. Not the kind that end with everyone smiling. They’d known me since we were kids running scams and stealing liquor from our parents’ cabinets. They knew the difference between me trying to be funny and me trying to say something I couldn’t say straight.

He leaned back in his chair, a content sigh escaping his lips. Brian chuckled a soft rumble that sent chills down my spine. "Speaking of adventures," he said, a playful smile tugging at his lips, "I've had my fair share of crazy moments. But there's one story that always takes the crown. It's so outlandish, I can hardly believe it happened to me.”

Vera deadpanned, then smiled when he laughed, really laughed, the kind that lit up his whole face and crinkled the corners of his eyes. She liked that sound more than she cared to admit. They fell into an easy rhythm after that. Nothing serious, nothing heavy, just snippets of stories, childhood mischiefs, and mutual teasing that felt like balm after everything that had happened. He told her about sneaking out of his boarding school with his friend and getting caught three blocks away because his friend had a weak bladder and needed to pee every twenty minutes. She countered with the time she’d raced an undercover cop in a stolen motorcycle and only escaped because he’d pulled over to answer

“Can we talk about princesses?” I chuckled, sitting back against the couch. “Princesses? Oh, I know so many stories about princesses. Did I ever tell you about the princess who loved to dance?” Her eyes widened with excitement as she shook her head. “No! Tell me, tell me!” And so, I launched into a story, weaving a tale about a brave princess who danced her way out of trouble. Miracle hung on every word, her laughter ringing out every time I added a silly twist to the story. By the time I finished, she was giggling so hard she was holding her sides.

It came out short and disbelieving, the kind of laugh a man gives when someone’s insulted his intelligence instead of amused him. “That’s good.” He shook his head, still laughing under his breath. “That’s genuinely good. Did my grandmother’s people teach you that one, or did you come up with it yourself?” “I’m not lying to you.” “Of course you’re not.” He leaned back, arms crossed, something cold settling behind his eyes now that the laugh had faded. “You’re the third woman this year to try that particular story on me. One of them even had a name badge to match, if you can believe that. Very convincing prop.”

He grinned, wiggling his fingers mysteriously. “It’s called ‘Story Fingers.’ You take turns telling a story, but here’s the catch—you can only speak one sentence at a time, and you have to include a finger count with each sentence. For example, I start with ‘One fox ran across the river,’ and then you continue with two of something happening, and so on. It gets tricky, and hilarious, especially after a few rounds.” Jaiyana laughed, already intrigued. “Sounds… complicated. But fun. Okay, I’m in.”

she added. "Whatever you tell yourself" I laughed as I headed out. My mind reeling on the lies I have had to tell and the ones to come, Lila is not going to find this funny.