Trampling Stories Novels & Stories

I could feel every eye on me, every whisper pressing in. "Please, Mrs Stone," I tried again, my voice softer now, almost breaking. "You don’t understand what really happened. I didn’t cheat—" "And yet there are pictures and videos of it," Anya cut in with a smug smile. "Have some shame Camelia you're in a luxurious party not a club." My fingers tightened around the glass in my hand, but I slowly set it down on a passing tray. My throat burned, my chest tight, humiliation crawling through me.

Some stories started with hate. This one ended with everything.

(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). That kid was still crying (I hate the screams that they make while crying, tears are acceptable) and a pack of wolves heard his little noises. I'm not cruel, I just enjoy th

As I lay on the genuine leather sofa with a glass of 1982 Lafite in hand, I finally felt like the hero of a power-fantasy novel I was meant to be. Suddenly, a highlighted post popped up on my phone screen. It was from the campus forum. "Why Did Jacob the Fool Suddenly Lose His Mind?" I raised a brow and tapped into the thread with interest. There, students were enthusiastically discussing my "heroic act" of feeding the sandwich to a stray dog yesterday. Someone had even started a betting pool. "I'll bet a dollar that Jacob takes Carol to a fine dining restaurant and begs for her forgiveness." "I'll put ten dollars on tomorrow. Jacob will be crawling back with tears in his eyes, apologizing t

The scalding heat tore through me, every nerve in my body screaming in silent agony. I tried to cry out, but all that came out were choked, broken gasps. Curled up on the floor, drenched in blood, I barely clung to what was left of my sanity. Luna glanced impatiently at the door, the sound of dogs barking still echoing outside. "Throw her in with the dog!" she ordered. They lifted me off the ground, dragging me toward the door. A thick trail of blood snaked across the once-pristine floor. Quinn frowned slightly, stepping in front of me. "That's enough."

His hand cupped my face, warm and certain, and for a heartbeat, everything else disappeared. When we finally parted, I could still feel the ghost of his lips on mine a promise, a memory, a beginning. I looked down at the page. The ink had barely touched it, but it didn’t matter. For once, I didn’t need to write every detail. The story had already found its ending not in words, but in the spaces between them. And as Ethan’s fingers tightened gently around mine, I realized that sometimes, the truest stories don’t need to be told. They just need to be lived.

My body started heating up again. Mabel was still talking about her achievements during this trip. I responded absent-mindedly; she seemed to notice this on the other end of the line. So, she concluded, "You'll know what a prize I've found when we get back to work on Monday." After hanging up, my mind was overwhelmed by thoughts of the roses and the odd sensation Jeremy had made me feel. I patted my cheeks and told myself to calm down. … My business trip lasted another two days. Throughout that time, I attended various gatherings and seriously kept an eye out for potential streamers. Finally, I discovered one who looked like he would do well.

“Then maybe that’s your answer.” Later that night, Ryan stood by his window. The streetlights blurred in the distance. His inbox pinged again a reply from L. Tansey, offering a call. He didn’t answer yet. Instead, he opened a blank page. And he typed: “A Story That Doesn’t Belong To You” by Ryan Calloway He stared at the title for a long moment. Then under it, he wrote: “This isn’t a story about revenge. It’s about reclaiming.” Two weeks later.