Short Stories

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: April 13, 2016

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Submitted: April 13, 2016




"Hey bro? Why do you keep publishing your silly writings? People don't read them as you can see."

"Oh bro, don't tell me like that."

"I'm just telling the truth. I mean--I don't want you to be tired because you're my friend. I told you many times about this, and you know what? They are not really good. I'm so sorry bro."

As quite as a deaf-mute, he responded nothing to his friend. Putting down his pen, taking a deep breath, he was tired--not tired of writing but tired of hearing those words again. A writer who was a fond of sharing his works, he was upset because of his friend's remark. Doleful, only his friend's words hurt him even though he heard the same from the others.

"Mom, I regret the operation last month. You shouldn't have done it for me. Je te deteste!(I hate you)"

"To, tot, t-tot"

Hanging up the phone, laying in the bed, he felt a dejection not from his friend only, but to everybody. He realized his friend was telling the truth, no one loved his writings.

"Wow! You're writings are good. Can you make a story about my life?"

"Your work is exceptional! You must be William Shakespeare's son."

"Oh you are clever!"

When he read these words from his writing notebook, he had dew-eyed. Nostalgic--he never knew he loved lies when he was once a deaf-mute.

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