The Story I Tell Novels & Stories

“No. I do. I mean I want to apologize. I could have given you a bullshit story about my life. Something fake. Something you can easily write. But I think in the back of my mind, that’s not what I wanted.” He stared at me. I’m sure that’s not what he expected to hear. Its surely not what I expected to say. I took a deep breath. “At first, yes, I was putting off telling you anything because I just didn’t want to face it. And it felt like even making up a story was forcing me to think about how crapy my life has been. But today, I made a decision.” He waited patiently. “I want to tell you my story.” I paused realizing what I wanted before I actually said it. “I want you tell my story. The good.

she said, her voice filled with appreciation. With Sydney's siblings gathered around, I began telling them a story, one I had never shared with anyone before. It was a story about my life, my struggles, and how I came to embrace my true self as a werewolf. As I narrated the tale, I could see their eyes widening in amazement, captivated by the events that unfolded.

I have to stay strong Just to be safe, I start to recite stories my mother used to tell me when I was smaller -just before she died. These are the stories and lullabies that I will never get to share with my child. Oh my child, who just died out of wickedness from another. Sometimes my situation is so overwhelming that I just scream until my throat is tears. The stone walls absorb everything, giving nothing back but a reminder that I am locked up in this hell

Then “I’ve heard a lot of stories about myself tonight.” A small ripple of laughter. Nervous. Interested. “Some of them were true,” I continued. “Most of them weren’t.” A pause. Just enough. “But that’s the problem with stories,” I said. “If you let other people tell them for you… you lose control of who you are.” The room stilled. Focus tightened. I felt it. That shift again. The same one from before. But stronger now. “I won’t do that,” I said.

"You never told me what happened to your mom." I looked down at my hands. "She, um… the short story is she overdosed." “And the long story?” He asks gently. I inhaled a long breath. I wanted to tell him the story, but I didn’t want to do it in front of everyone here. “Ask me later.” "I'm so sorry." He briefly touches my back like a friend would, but I could still feel that spark that his touch always left.

She was much more braver when she told me her story though, unlike her daughter. I took another deep breath and looked at the fire the whole remaining time I resumed with the story. It was the only way I could speak about this without pausing every five seconds to pick up the shards of my breaking heart. I didn’t care if it made him feel like I was avoiding his gaze because I was lying with another cover up story. It was just the only way I could talk about it. I told him everything, without skipping any details. I told him about the rape, the escape, the fake father on paper, how normal and simple our life was in Seattle, and how it was all going perfectly… until it wasn’t.

It's better to listen than those fairy tales. My story, there's nothing much about me. There's nothing I can talk about, as if there's any worth sharing. However, eventhough there's nothing to tell, I felt so happy knowing that someone wanted to hear stuffs about me. With my experience from my past relationships, no one had ever dare to ask anything about me. They never ask anything about my story. And hearing him now, asking for those, it feels surreal. I feel like I am appreciated after all. That despite of being like this, there's still someone who'll spend the night listening to me. [ Okay, then I'll tell you about my childhood. Will that be alright? ]

Part 1 Alot of people have different life tale, I have read many and never thought I will one day tell mine here for others to read. I have held back for so long and Just felt is time to let my pain out. I will start right from when it all began. I came from a loving home, my parents were awesome when it comes to caring for us. I'm the first child and have younger siblings. A sister Lucia and two brothers. My parents were young and love each other before getting married.

She nodded and then turned to me and said, “then why don’t you incorporate both into what you wish to show us?” Adding both together? That wasn’t an impossible request, but it wasn’t something I had quite prepared for. Still, I had to impress them so I quickly thought up something on the top of my head. Taking the centre of the stage, I took a quiet but deep breath in, as I had learned to do many times during practice. Then, with a clear voice, I spoke out some lines, “if there is a story to be told, why should I not be the one to tell it? Do we all not have that choice to tell our own tales?”

Mmmmuah"! A clap of satisfaction was given to him by the audience as he walked back to his seat. Mr Lucas collected the microphone and rounded up the speech with a joke, saying.... "Now that the grandfathers of triplets Amelia, Donald and Anderson have given their own vote of thanks, now it's my own turn to do so being their day's Master of Ceremonies". Everyone laughed as they clapped...to cheer him up. He began... "The title of my story is..."The Cat and the Single Hen"! He continued...