Tired Of Living In Fiction Novels & Stories

I simply let go and moved on. The world is already full of negativity. I write to free my mind from the stories clouding in my head, and I know many of my readers are reading to escape the real world and live in the fantasy that our world cannot provide. Please let us enjoy this world. I appreciate your readership, but like in any relationship or stage of our lives, if something or someone isn't making you happy or giving you what you think you deserve, there is no shame in leaving rather than building a toxic relationship or environment.

"You clearly knowing that this world isn't real, but still hesitated to get out, because you was afraid to abandon that child. But you forgot, that child is not real, and your real parents are crying day and night, waiting for you to wake up outside. How long are you going to feel sorry for a fictional character, causing real pain to your loved ones? How long are you planning to make them wait, make them suffer, and make them miserable? - "Them"? Do you know why “they” only appear in dreams? Because dreams are a reflection of your subconscious desires. They were made by the secret wishes in your heart. You created people who tell you this world is fake, because you can't accept this reality,

I'm destined to meet men who only hurt me and leave me broken, and I'm not just talking about Daniel. Dad left me broken, Jacob did, and I'm learning that a few women in my life could also. I am tired of fighting for things that come easily to others. Am I not deserving of a fairy tale lifestyle? Or am I just meant to be poor and wretched for the rest of my life? No. I'll create a better life for myself. I don't need something that isn't real and can't stand the test of time. I'll give my child the good things in life. Yeah, who needs fairy tales anyway?

"Find a donor or fvcking just go buy their own eyes! For pete's sake! Are you even using your brain? Or you just let it to be useless?! Argh!" I stamped my feet in annoyance. "Do your job better! You piece of trash! I paid for all of you so, don't just sit there and tell me that you found nothing!" "But, my lady, we already talk few people around in Alkinia, but no one wants to donate or even let us buy their eyes."

"But sometimes we need fairy tales to remember we're still breathing." The words hit deeper than they should. When's the last time I felt alive instead of just surviving? Never. "What kind of people do this?" I can't help the curiosity that's beginning to build. "People who want to forget who they are. People tired of performing their lives instead of living them. Interested?" I drain the vodka. This is insane. I have responsibilities, a pregnant wife who trusts me to be discreet. But discretion and anonymity aren't the same thing. "How does it work?" I shouldn't be asking this shit. But what the hell. You only live once.

“You’ve been consumed by your love for fictional novels to the point that your trying to make your life be like one of it.” “You’re not in a love story, Ms.” He smirked.

It was just my answer. If you notice that I seem to be negative, hello, I'm just being honest. There are no fairytales and happy endings. You can only read They lived happily ever after in your book, but in real life, there isn't any. I'm just bitter, right? But I am just stating a fact. "I will pray and make an offering tonight so that my prayer will come true." It seemed to be possessed by a spirit because its life returned. "Yeah, good luck." I just told him.

⸻ Then he opened his eyes. ⸻ “I’m tired.” ⸻ Silence. ⸻ “I’m tired of people disappearing.” ⸻ The stars trembled. ⸻ “I’m tired of losing people.” ⸻ His voice cracked. 💔 ⸻ “And I’m tired of being told someone has to die for everyone else to survive.” ⸻ The universe listened. ⸻ Because these weren’t the words of a god. ⸻ They were the words of a human.

I narrated his life as a fact and people believe in it as a myth. (Author wanted to write a fantasy of abandoned souls and empty shells of hollow carcasses but the author is lost in a different world of his own thoughts and nightmares, he has a regret of being wrong at the edge of the clearest right opted path that he had pave for the truth and ended up with a lie of being good, but he is the worst of his own creation of any character and in every emotion that he felt but after the time has passed, he suffered like a shooting star and created a hinge in the depths of his stoned heart).

Tristan My life these past few weeks has been a cycle on repeat. Wake up. Get ready for work. Eat. Work until exhaustion. Sleep. Then repeat. It was mechanical, soulless even, but that was the point. By grinding myself down to nothing each day, I didn’t have to think. I didn’t have to feel. And when I finally collapsed into sleep at night, I could avoid the ghosts that haunted me.