Write A Story Novels & Stories

Yeah, I followed him. After an hour of staring at each other, the walls and ceiling, he spoke up. "Tomorrow is my parents death anniversary." I shifted uncomfortably. Hearing stories like this are really boring to me. You're probably thinking that I'm a psycho but that's how I roll. A tear slipped down his face.

I remembered how I wrote my story in it starting from the time I became a vampire and the times I spent with John, one would have thought that things would end well between us, but look at us now. I hadn’t written in it in years, as I was too overwhelmed with the challenges I was facing to even think of writing. I picked up a pen and continued writing my story, making sure not to miss anything important that had happened to me in the previous years. Something in me knew that even though I was the only one who could read what was written inside, the story I have written here might still be of help to or impact someone’s life somehow, even if it wouldn’t be until thousands of years.

I would like to know why he suddenly asked me to create a story! He didn't even orient me! I close my eyes, and then suddenly, some idea pops up in my mind. I smile brightly and start to type the story. Our first meeting inspires the story that I will present to him. I'll make it a very angsty one, and he will be the leading guy then dies in the end. It's a story about the hero and heroine falling in love together when they first meet inside the elevator after an accidental kiss. But, unfortunately, the guy didn't know that the girl he met was a part of a mafia clan and one of the candidates to be the mafia boss's mate.

I’m not going to have to dodge that storm, and I can skip all my recuperating rituals. Tomorrow, I’m quitting my job. Next week, I’m flying back home. Biswa was distraught, when I told him about my decision when he called last night. He couldn’t believe it for a while. “What the hell will you do there?” he asked. I remembered Nisim’s insight: For the greatest story-tellers, telling their story is their deepest yearning. It’s their way of life. “I’ll write the second story.” I said. “Second story? When did you write the first one?”

I apologised. "It's ok. Did you sleep well?" she queried. "Yes." "Ada, I want you to tell me what happened to you." She said firmly as she made herself comfortable on the bed. "I don't want to. Please, don’t let me repeat this story. It’s a source of pain to me.” I pleaded.

I was throwing my cheap laptops as a kid, then turning around with my babysitting money and buying a new one. Needless to say, I would go through three, sometimes four, per year. Mom finally had to set me down and work with me about getting up and walking away from the situation. So, I didn’t have to buy a new computer. I drank some more of my wine before going back to the computer. I then remembered something my English teacher told me once after reading one of my short stories, ‘The problem can sometimes be further back.’ And with that, I began rereading the whole manuscript.

- because I was like you in the few hours left He looked interested to hear more, So I told the story from the beginning - all of the stories start from two years ago, I was setting in the park writing my new novel, and that's when he arrived, his name is Max, the strongest one in our school, I felt something strange after I saw him, something made me so weak, something make me made me out of my mind, something made me go to him and says... - what's the time now? - time? Hmmm, it's eleven o'clock - still morning - yeah - do you have any programs today?

I look at the person who spoke. “Mom!” I yelled when I saw my parents and Shayne. “Congratulations, Bavina,” Mom and Dad says, I hug them. “Grandma!” Pauline yells. “Your hair is getting long, Bavina!” Shayne says that made me laugh. We’ve been through a lot, happiness, problems, pains, achievements, rejections, and we ended up to what God wrote for our story. We ended up with each other despite the pains we gave to each other.

This journey of writing has been a voyage of self-discovery, where I have learned as much about myself as I have about the craft of storytelling. I believe that stories are the threads that weave our shared human experience. They have the power to transcend cultural, geographical, and temporal boundaries, reminding us of our common humanity. Whether through the written word, oral tradition, or digital mediums, stories connect us, inspire us, and challenge us to grow. It is my hope that my words will find a resonance with readers, that they will evoke emotions, provoke thoughts, and spark conversations.

I warned her trying to change the topic "I had sex with three different men, each fucking me at different holes, did you do anything close to that?" she spilled shamelessly "What? no, never!" I exclaimed in surprise "Good, go on with the story then" she half yelled impatiently "I was seventeen years old at the time it happened, but I had been with Kai for two years before then. I first saw him when I followed my parents to war for the first time, I was only fifteen then, I was by my mother's side and he was by his father's side, he looked very handsome wearing his black robe and I couldn't help but look into his eyes, his gray eyes shone brightly adding more beauty to his long hair and finel