Truth Or Fiction Novels & Stories

Her voice is annoyed and I can't help the laugh that escapes my throat. "Not that kind of game," I explain as I sit up, leaning back against the head board. "In Iraq when we couldn't sleep, we'd play a game called truth or lie, because ya know, there wasn't much you could do for a dare in the middle of a war zone. The person would say truth or lie, if it was truth, they got to tell you from what point in your life the truth had to be from, and if it was a lie, anything was fair game. So you tell me. Truth or lie." She's interested, I can tell because she's quit squirming and she's giving me her full attention. "Truth," she finally says.

"And I can't differentiate them from you. I can't tell reality apart from fiction. It is as if something is blocking me from making the right decision. Sometimes I will be reminiscing and reveling in your memory. And when I think that is you, and when I am sure it is you. You then disappear like a pillar and cloud of smoke. Just gone, as if you have been released from my grasp. I am struggling to separate reality from fiction. Sometimes even when I open my eyes, I still can't tell it apart."

I found myself sitting up straighter, suddenly interested. “Take Jekyll and Hyde, for example. Or the selkies in Celtic mythology—seals that could shed their skins to become human. Werewolf legends. Vampire folklore.” His eyes swept across the room. “Stories of beings that walk among us, hiding their true nature behind familiar faces.” “But those are just stories,” said Marcus Webb from the back row. “Made-up stuff to scare people.” “Are they? Consider this: what if these stories persisted throughout history not because they’re fiction, but because they contain elements of truth? What if the line between fantasy and reality isn’t as clear as we assume?”

“Everything you wrote was just an illusion, an illusion of the type of life you wanted, and do you know what genre this falls in?” “Umm…romance?” “Yeah, but it’s fiction, so all you need to do is change the title and let everyone know you weren’t writing about your marriage but about what you wished you wanted your marriage to be about.” Won’t that be admitting to everyone that I was the problem in my marriage because I expected my husband to be like my male lead? “You are advising I lie to the public?” I couldn’t believe his suggestion. “No, I am advising you to stop lying to yourself,” he answered, and the more he spoke, the more confused I got.

I scrolled with trembling fingers, my vision blurring as I read the words that felt like they had been ripped from my private nightmares. The article was a masterpiece of cruelty. It claimed that ten years ago, I had fabricated my pregnancy to force Tristan into a marriage he didn't want. It alleged that when the "lie" was about to be discovered, I had faked a miscarriage and fled the country with a settlement, only to return now to "finish the job" and seize the company.

Their legs began to shuffle but one of the campers stood still, his legs couldn't move and he had pissed on himself. "Everyone... Run! John screamed and immediately they began sprinted through the dark woods, some towards the direction of the camp, others overwhelmed by fear ran in other directions heading to unknown destinations. Summer was ahead of them all while Glenn and John were behind her. She wanted to die but certainly not in the hands of a beast she was yet to believe was real.

"Yeah... I guess I have been keeping us kind of busy with this entire show we've been putting on, huh?" Humming once more, he agrees. "There hasn't been much time for real life, when the fake one is so consuming." She frowns, green eyes drowning with worry as she realizes, "the lines are beginning to blur." He raises a brow. "What lines?" He asks. "The lines between fiction and reality," Liviana stresses her explanation. "They're blurring! One's consuming the other and before we know it, we won't be able to tell where the lies end and the truth begins-"

Do you think he told us the truth when he said he cannot remember? The truth isn’t a math exam. It isn’t made of numbers, and can neither be calculated nor concluded, since it is constantly expanding. There is no absolute answer when it comes to the truth. It changes in the hands of those who touch it. Like a living organism, it moves, breathes and, sometimes, flees as soon as you approach it. ‘Of course it can be true,’ Helen said, and thereby: the truth.

“A good one. Scary and convincing. But it’s built on lies. It’s built on painted bones and poisoned wells. It’s fragile.” He leans forward, his breath hot against my ear. “Truth is slower than fear, Kieran. Fear is a wildfire, it burns fast and hot. But truth is a river. It takes time. It carves the stone slowly. But in the end, the river always wins.” I listen to him. I want to believe him. But the irony tastes bitter in my mouth. Vorlag is using the appearance of truth to destroy us. “What if the river dries up before it cuts through the stone?” I ask.

And above all… do your best to speak only truth, or the Game will know. Lies are the currency of the damned. ] Farrah took a deep breath as she carefully read the rules. This was her lifeline after all. She had basically just died from the car accident, and she didn’t want to die again. If there was a chance of survival, she might as well cling to it. Still, she couldn’t help but feel nervous. This simply felt too unreal. “This is insane…” she whispered. “It’s a nightmare. It has to be.”