Truth Or Fiction Novels & Stories

“I do not belong here.” The sofa dipped as Ferguson sat beside me. His hand tugged mine down from my face, firm but gentle. He forced me to meet his eyes. “Listen,” he said, quieter now. “Claudia can pay reporters, twist stories, fake photos until people choke on them. But she cannot touch the truth. And the truth is this. You are not what they say you are.” Tears blurred my vision. “But no one cares about the truth. They care about whatever headline screams loudest.”

Perhaps, it was because the wind was blowing fog that had been in my mind for days. Eric's arms were giving me the perfect amount of warmth. I didn't move, simply I didn't have the strength to pry him away. "You know whenever I try to do things right. Everything gets messed up." He started saying. "Because instead of truth, you always take support of lies," I told him in between. "Maybe you are right. But I get scared. Truth makes everything different" My hair flew at his face. He tried to keep them away. "Truth might make things difficult but lies ruins everything forever," I told him whatever I felt like. Lies can certainly make you happy at times but the truth is eternal. It will come out

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION NAMES, CHARACTERS, BUSINESS, PLACES, EVENTS, AND INCIDENTS ARE EITHER THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHORS IMAGINATION OR USE IN A FICTITIOUS MANNER. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO AN ACTUAL PERSON, LIVING OR DEAD, BUSINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALS IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL. PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME "Funny how you think I fell into your trap," He said laughing.

Confused but felt something at the same time. Your output, it's-- "Fiction, a work of imagination. An exaggeration of reality sometimes opposite to it. It's like playing with reality trying to make it more ideal and dream-like. " After that, Craig take his seat and continue writing in his notea leaving everyone more confused and dumbfounded.

“You're right, it could be a fake. I guess you'll just have to read and find out. You should keep one thing in mind though, you can't fake authenticity. Words written from the heart, from experiences whether good or bad and being able to overcome one's trauma; they can never be untrue. Ziarre's genuine self will shine through those pages, I just know it. You can come up with different excuses as to why you'd rather not read it but you and I know that the truth is, you're scared of what you'll find. You're terrified of the possibility that you made a horrible mistake.

Each song is healing. I write in the mornings. At the kitchen table with coffee and notebooks. Fiction at first. Made-up stories about made-up people. But slowly, the truth creeps in. Our truth. The bond. The trauma. The survival. "Are you writing about us?" Lucian asks one morning, reading over my shoulder. "Fictionalized. Changed names. Different setting." I bite my lip. "Is that okay?" "It's your story too. Write it however you need to."

"I know the true story. It was an honest accident. Nothing more." "Then why are you here?" "Because truth is not always enough." His answer landed like a slap I hadn't braced for. Draven looked toward the fountain for a moment before facing me again. "Imagine how easily that story could be changed. A desperate woman who had just been rejected, deliberately targeting a wealthy Alpha's private sample. A woman who found a way into his life through calculated deception." "That is a lie." "I know." He said it without shame. "It does not need to be true. It only needs to sound believable enough to make people question you."

"You know nothing about me, Cairen. But I don't read romance. It's cliche.” I have never read a fiction book in my life. It's boring and gives me a headache. “Romance is not cliche. It shows true love and how the characters struggle in the name of love,” I remarked, biting my lips not to laugh. Zach wrinkled his nose like I was saying a nasty thing. "Why is it called fiction? It's not a real thing that happened. I would rather read about things that happened in real life than bullshit imagination," he grumpily said.

And every time, I forgave him without hesitation. [Don't be fooled just because the kid is young. He's a fantastic liar.] [When he was eating with the male lead, he even called the supporting male lead an old loser!] [Having a son like that really makes you feel bad for the supporting male lead. The son's an ingrate.] Those comments sent a chill down my spine. I could not believe that the child standing in front of me had been helping his mother deceive me for so long, despite only being five years old. But the truth was right there in front of me. I had no choice but to believe it.

She thoughts she has won because she shouted at him and filled his ears with rumours from jobless people who made gossiping their daily routine as if they will get millions of money or awards for each rumour they made. Rumours are true, people will not see a fire without smoke, they will never say what they didn't see or happened, the problem is they will add a huge portion of lies to it; five per cent of truths they saw or happened and ninety-five per cent of lies, big lies. And the strangest and funniest thing about rumours is that people tend to add their own exaggeration; lies as they gossipped or passed to another person, that person will add his/her own exaggeration; lies and passed to