Traumatic Stories Novels & Stories

I nearly killed a man because my wife kept secrets from me. This seems to be the story of my life. We are all living stories. And let's face it — every really good story is far from flat. Everybody loves a juicy tragedy. A frightful thriller. Until, of course, it's their tragedy or their fright. But that's a damn shame because who knows? All of my scary and tragic shit could be prepping me to tell one helluva good story. That's why I belong here. Right here, wherever I am. No, I know. Life sucks, and the shit I am going through is terrible. I'm not denying any of that.

Their willingness to share their story became an invitation for others to open up about their own experiences, fostering a sense of empathy and understanding. As they navigated the complexities of healing, Nathan, Miranda, and Emily also sought ways to use their experience to help others facing similar challenges. They became advocates for trauma-informed approaches to healing, working with organizations to raise awareness and support for individuals who had experienced trauma. Through their efforts, they aimed to destigmatize conversations around trauma and provide resources for those in need. Additionally, they collaborated with artists, writers, and filmmakers to create projects that shed

When I was younger, I was a victim of human trafficking. It went on for years and years, the physical pain and emotional damage was unbearable. It took what felt like forever to escape from the hell that I was living in. Running away from the man who groomed me... Lazarus Landucci. And the man who tortured me... Vladimir Potter. My heart pounded against my chest. Memories flooding back to the surface, taking me back to where my story began. Right from when I was just a child... 10 lily Rewinding time.

Because of that, I started the opposite of whatever they told me. I got into a lot of fights, I did things I wasn't supposed to do, I flunked my classes, but no matter what I did, I still felt trapped in the cage that my parents confined me in. It was hard to escape, but that was until I found something I actually wanted to do.

I consoled him and gave him some water. “She locked me up in the store room” “WHAT? IN THE STOOR ROOM? HOW DID YOU COME HERE! Tell me everything.” I questioned. “I was locked inside since morning and when she opened me up, I ran and hid here. She warned me that she’ll lock me again if I told this to anyone.” I stood up and as I went forward Zac held my leg and started to cry. “Please don’t go. I don’t want to get locked please.”

Were you ever told those stories? You know the ones that were meant to scare you at night when you were kids? To make or prevent you from doing something? I bet one of the stories you were told the most was of Skinwalkers that would kidnap and kill those of you that would do bad things. I was told the exact same stories about Weretigers, Werebears, Werewolves, etc. I of course never really believed it until the day my family was killed. I of course didn't see them as bad; I saw them as my rescuers from my family. Because sometimes family will hurt you more than the people in the stories you are told. My family never found out I betrayed them, until the day they died. Since 100 years ago, I'v

“These two have been meeting in barns for months. Vivian threw herself at Vince and ruined our relationship.” "Lie!" Perry looked at Kathleen in disbelief. "How dare you call my daughter a liar!" It was Judd Randall who stepped to his daughter's side. He was a retired general of the Calvary, and still carried his body straight and proud despite his permanent injuries. He knew of his daughter’s indiscretion and condition, he had supported her idea to tell Vince. After all the father had a right to know. After this, though, he would not support a forced marriage. There were other ways to go about this. His sharp yes shushed Kathleen.

The memories immediately came rushing back again. Stephen is touching another woman. Kissing her. Lying to me. Pain twisted sharply inside my chest. Mr Blackwood must have noticed because his expression hardened slightly. “Men like that are pathetic.” I looked up at him. “Men like what?” “Men who betray women who love them.” Something about the way he said it felt personal. Like he understood betrayal far too well. I studied him carefully. “You sound experienced.” A shadow crossed his face briefly before disappearing. “Experience teaches many things.”

I could feel her hitting me. I couldn’t take her pain away, but at least I would try to ease it. Time seemed to freeze, and I could feel Diana’s pain flooding the air. She reminded me a little of the feeling I felt when dad told mom and me the stories of his youth in his country. Horrible stories of helplessness and frustration, I did not know how to act, so the only thing that occurred to me was to hug her tightly, hoping that she could alleviate her pain with it.

Shelter workers confirmed I'd been polite and grateful for assistance. Social workers documented that I'd run away to escape uncomfortable foster situation. "We're building a complete picture of that time." Alexander showed me the documentation. "So when Victor attacks we have truth ready." "I hate that my childhood trauma is being weaponized." I felt exhausted by the constant fighting. "I know." Alexander held me. "But we're not letting Victor control this narrative. Your story is one of survival and resilience." "What if people believe his version instead of mine?" I voiced my fear.