The Tears That Taught Me Novels & Stories

Nothing hurts me more than watching a tear fall from this beautiful girl’s eyes. Each one is like a knife plunged into my heart. When I pull back and look into her eyes which are swimming in tears, for one fleeting minute, it’s like a curtain fell and she allowed me to see into her soul. I saw such sorrow and something deep in my chest hurt, so much so that it caught my breath. I feel tears burn the back of my eyelids. I’m an idiot. How could I not see it?

What a pointless venture that turned out to be. I struggled to my feet and swallowed the whimper that nearly came out. No crying. Monsters don’t cry. One lashing for one tear. Growing up, I learned quickly not to cry. The scars on my back are a testament to my lesson. One tear, one lashing. My scars are years old now. No tears mean no lashings, so I let none fall. I limped to the small sink in the corner of my room and turned on the tap. As per usual, the water was freezing. I cupped my small hands under the stream to catch the water, then gently placed my face into the collected water. I ran my wet fingers over my beaten face, letting the moister wash away the blood. I cupped my hands again

Without hesitation, Liam crouched and wrapped his arms around Theodore, who was still crying. "Hey, it's okay. I'm right here. Everything's going to be fine. Stop crying, little man." Reassured, Theodore pressed his lips together. His eyes were puffy from crying, tears blurring his sight. He whispered through his sobs, "T-Thank you." Then, he brushed the tears from his face. Liam grinned, his hand brushing the back of Theodore's head. "That's it. Now that's a little man."

The money I had left was less than ten thousand naira after sending most of it to my mom. After cleaning my room and taking a bath, I felt empty. This wasn’t my body anymore, it felt foreign, like something had been stolen and could never be returned. As I stepped out of my room again, tears streamed down my face uncontrollably. I turned back and threw myself onto the bed, my knees hitting the floor. My body shook with agony. But no amount of tears could bring back who I was before. It was gone, and gone forever.

Worse, the pain that we mutually feel causes my closed eyes to tear, and before I can stop it, numerous pearls of tears stream down my cheeks. Out of reflex, I raise my hand, intending to wipe my tears. It is then I discover that I can now move my hand. Not only can I move my hand, I unintentionally get my eyes open as soon as my fingers make contact with my tears, awaken by it, and am greeted by a realization that everything I feel earlier just belongs to a mere dream as I still find myself sitting on the same spot I occupy. I made a quick check on my surroundings and then move my baffled look to the wet tips of my finger, staring at them blankly.

It’s hard to catch a breath past the lump of tears in my throat. “O-okay? I-” I eek out, but it’s small and my voice wavers. Tears creep to my eyes. I gulp hard to stop them, but they spill over. My tears are gold, like my eyes. They stain my face, and they leave yellow marks wherever they land. It wasn’t always like that. I had normal tears until Grandma and Grandpa told me I was staying with them and going to school at Rambling Hills Elementary.

I looked like a woman who had been crying, which after all was exactly what I was, and the fact that the tears were real — genuinely, horrifyingly real — made the whole thing worse. Because Lily McCutchen did not cry real tears. I cried strategic tears, calibrated tears, which appeared at optimal moments and dried the instant they had served their purpose. I have been doing it since I was seven years old, when I discovered that a well-timed sob could get me out of trouble faster than any apology, and I have spent the subsequent two decades refining the technique into an art form. But these tears were not strategic. They were not calibrated. They were the tears of a woman who had just watched

I reached out and brushed my hand across her cheek, wiping away the tear clinging there. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice high with panic. She blinked at me, a little stunned. “I’m not crying anymore, I swear,” she added with a sniffle trying to sound brave. I tightened my grip on her shoulder. “Tears of grief!” I shouted. The moment I named it, the tear shimmered with power. The pain she had felt, the heartbreak, the fear of losing me it transformed into a luminous barrier of water between us and the dark flames.

The girl didn't move from her position as she whispered back to me, "I love you..." The truth behind the three words resonated within me. Each one, lifting a further weight from my chest. She loves me... It's odd that a simple three words could just flip your world upside down, but right then, I felt like I was living in the clouds. A single tear fell from my cheek. Tears have so much meaning behind them. Really, they represent a feeling so strong it can't be put into words. Extreme sadness, happiness or even anger. A single tear could represent a feeling so vivid, only a few select people could understand it. This tear represented sheer happiness combined with resent. That bitter feeling wh

Something hot. Tears.