Truth Or Fiction Novels & Stories

The ravenette scowls, creasing his facial features, "Aren't you afraid of telling the truth?" "Why would I be afraid of telling the truth?" Ryan swings his arms, "Shouldn't I be afraid of telling a lie and getting caught instead?" "That is quite not true, Mr. Miller," the man's words carry an unsettling mass to each of them, "Truths and lies are time, place, person based. Where you should say what, that is to be decided according to the surrounding circumstances. You get me? You know how many idiots have gotten away just with the help of a lie?"

She spoke with a cold, hard edge to her voice as she slammed the book shut and flung it onto the bed. "People tell themselves what they wish to believe, constructing falsehoods to fit their own desires, when in reality...' Her voice trailed off, and he finished the sentence for her: "it simply isn't true." Doubt and disappointment crept into her expression, and she seemed lost in thought for a moment. Was it possible that all of Lord's writers were fakes? Could Lord himself be a fraud? It couldn't be true. Lord was a critically acclaimed writer, an icon in his field.

"I mean, no offend, okay? It's just an opinion," "Sure, sure, what is it?" She agreed as she nodded every after of the word sure. "What if the four marks are the good ones and the government is the bad one?" He asked maintaining eye contact with her. "Ohh..." She got speechless. "That's... out of the box," She added. "By the way, in any chance, did you witness the appearance of the Sacred Book of Truths? I am curious!" He acted like an innocent curious boy. "Yeah, sure! We can go there right now!"

sighed Vincent. Aldrich didn't answer and just smiled faintly. Vincent, who caught Aldrich's smiled, asked. "Are you smiling?" "Don't spoil my mood, Vincent," Aldrich answered with a faint smile still on his face. "I won't … wait! You just say my name?" asked Vincent. "No," said Aldrich. "Yes." "No." "Yeah. You call it. Are we friends now?" he asked. Vincent felt happy. Aldrich was snorting. "I don't believe in friendship. So leave me alone."

Confused by how did she tell a lie. "No, I'll prove it to you!" Then she runs back. One moment later, she came back while holding a book. "Here." She gave it to him. Ah! When he opened the book. He looked like he saw a ghost. "This means... I am a fiction?" "But why? Why does God play us! I suffered too much! I left you! I fought Jin! We and this God played before our lives?" Now he knows. The truth! He never believed it. Yet, upon that book, all of the truths was written there. Private or personal that book told them—

But now it sat beside new additions—a photo of Lila’s first steps on the training ground, a drawing she had made of three figures holding hands under stadium lights. Truth had been told. Love had won. And in the years stretching ahead, it would keep winning—on the pitch, in their home, and in the legacy they left for every dreamer who followed. The floodlights waited patiently in the distance, ready for the next generation to write their own stories under their glow. The End.

But differently weighted, the specific gait of a person who is carrying the truth now instead of the story, and has discovered that the truth, for all its difficulty, sits more honestly in the body than a well-constructed fiction ever did. I stood on the pavement until he turned the corner. Then I went home to my daughter.

“That’s…” He shook his head slowly. “I wish I’d seen that.” I laughed softly. “It wasn’t nearly as dramatic as you’re imagining.” “I doubt that.” I continued anyway. “I walked them through everything.” “The fake infertility report.” “The domestic violence allegation.” “The financial fraud.” “The manipulation.” “The conspiracy.” I swallowed. “And then I ended by telling them…” I looked directly at him. “‘The truth does not become a lie simply because someone famous tells it.’” The room became very quiet.

They had let me think the worst of them all this time, just so that I wouldn't suffer the weight of these memories. But surviving was not enough, I wanted to live and I would only achieve that by knowing the truth. And the truth was liberating. I no longer felt guilty for feeling the way I did about three different people, but I felt so many inconsistent and unreasonable things. I lost myself in Logan's grey gaze, the sparkle in his eyes, the calmness of his expression, -I... He put his finger on my mouth, “Okay.”

"The truth?" "Every word of it. Delivery times. Weather. License plates on the feed van. Wolves jogging. Direction the wind’s blowing. Type of clouds in the air. The truth, boy, in such quantity and of such quality that it takes them hours to read before they can think of casting a vote." She points her spoon at me. "The moment you write one false thing you're a liar who can be caught. A man who only writes true things can't be. Pick your true things carefully."