FICTION

Fiction broadly refers to any narrative that is derived from the imagination—in other
words, not based strictly on history or fact.[1][2][3] It can also refer, more narrowly, to
narratives written only in prose (the novel and short story), and is often used as a
synonym for the novel.

Short Story

100 Percent Love - A Moral Short Story

A boy and a girl were playing together. The boy had

a collection of marbles. The girl has some sweets
with her. The boy told the girl that he would give
her all his marbles in exchange for the sweets with
her. The girl agreed.

The boy kept the most beautiful and the biggest

marbles with him and gave her the remaining
marbles. The girl gave him all her sweets as she
promised. That night the girl slept peacefully. But
the boy could not sleep as he kept wondering if the
girl has hidden some sweets from him the way he
had hidden the best marbles from her.

Moral of the Story :

If you do not give 100 percent in a relationship, you

will always kept doubting if the other person has
given her / his hundred percent. This is applicable
for any relationship like love, employee – employer,
friendship, family, countries, etc…
 FICTION
Fiction broadly refers to any narrative that is derived from the imagination—in other
words, not based strictly on history or fact.[1][2][3] It can also refer, more narrowly, to
narratives written only in prose (the novel and short story), and is often used as a
synonym for the novel.

Short Story
A Mysterious Memory
Let us enjoy reading this one of Modern Stories of A Mysterious Memory .

Though it is one of the faded memories of my life today, there are times when I remember his face
clearly, especially his eyes. As he had yellow spots on his eyes we called him spotty. He would
have been a stray dog, until, he came to me.
I was seven years old. My dad had just got transferred to Nasik. We had shifted into a rented
house. The house was surrounded by lots of bushes and vines. It was raining very heavily on the
day we shifted.
I went out and felt those refreshing raindrops with a cool breeze on my face. It was a cold dark night. We
had our meal and went to sleep.
Somehow in the midnight I heard a loud thud outside the main door. I mustered courage and peeped out
through the window adjoining the door and I was really amused with what I saw outside.
There was a small puppy lying on an old rug which my mother had put outside the door. It was wet and
shivering. At first it was difficult to see the little one. It had a black body which was darker even than a black
rainy cloud. It was the yellow spots on its eyes, which made me realize its presence.
It was trying to get inside the curved rug to avoid the chilling air outside and it had managed to get in as I
could see only his head outside the rug.
I saw that the flowerpot kept on the window sill had fallen down. I felt pity for poor soul. I went in and came
out with an old towel. I went near the innocent one and held it in my hand and wiped the puppy till he had
become dry. I took it inside and made a bed for him with a woolen rug and a small pillow. He seemed very
comfortable in his new bed as he went to sleep immediately.
The next day morning, everyone in the family came to know about the unusual guest. “Shall we keep him
with us?" I questioned my mom.
Like any other parents would, my parents first totally refused my idea but I and my sister convinced them to
keep Spotty.
Slowly Spotty got easily mingled with everyone and became one of the family members. We got used to all
his small habits and pranks.
Days passed on and one evening when Spotty returned from his long walk, he appeared very exhausted.
He came to my room and sat near me. It was then I saw that his hind leg was injured and was bleeding. I
called out my mother and she quickly tied a bandage around his leg and gave him food to eat.
I was very upset. But the next day, Spotty was up to his usual pranks though he limped a bit.
After this incident my relation with Spotty became more intense. I really admired him a lot for his courage.
Almost a year later, one midnight we heard Spotty barking breathlessly. We came out and saw that he was
barking continuously heading somewhere.
After some time Spotty became quite. I patted him on his back and came inside. The next day morning, my
heart skipped a beat when I didn’t see Spotty. I searched for him in each and every corner but he was
nowhere. And this time he had gone and would never come back. I cried and waited for him. We waited for
one long week. But there were no signs of him.
Then one day my Dad got transferred to Mumbai. We shifted back to Mumbai. What would have happened
to Spotty? Would he have died? These were the only questions in my mind, but they all remained
unanswered forever.
Fairy Tale:
The Princess and the Pea
Once upon a time there was a prince who wanted to marry a princess; but
she would have to be a real princess. He travelled all over the world to find
one, but nowhere could he get what he wanted. There were princesses
enough, but it was difficult to find out whether they were real ones. There
was always something about them that was not as it should be. So he
came home again and was sad, for he would have liked very much to have
a real princess.
One evening a terrible storm came on; there was thunder and lightning,
and the rain poured down in torrents. Suddenly a knocking was heard at the
city gate, and the old king went to open it.
It was a princess standing out there in front of the gate. But, good
gracious! what a sight the rain and the wind had made her look. The water
ran down from her hair and clothes; it ran down into the toes of her shoes
and out again at the heels. And yet she said that she was a real princess.
Well, we'll soon find that out, thought the old queen. But she said
nothing, went into the bed-room, took all the bedding off the bedstead, and
laid a pea on the bottom; then she took twenty mattresses and laid them on
the pea, and then twenty eider-down beds on top of the mattresses.
On this the princess had to lie all night. In the morning she was asked
how she had slept.
"Oh, very badly!" said she. "I have scarcely closed my eyes all night.
Heaven only knows what was in the bed, but I was lying on something hard,
so that I am black and blue all over my body. It's horrible!"
Now they knew that she was a real princess because she had felt the
pea right through the twenty mattresses and the twenty eider-down beds.
Nobody but a real princess could be as sensitive as that.
So the prince took her for his wife, for now he knew that he had a real
princess; and the pea was put in the museum, where it may still be seen, if
no one has stolen it.
There, that is a true story.
Fairy Tale:
Princes Rose and the Golden Bird
by Sergey Nikolov

Many, many years ago, in a kingdom far, far away there lived a beautiful princes. She had
long red hair and loved roses so much that everyone called her Princes Rose. Every
evening after dusk, Princes Rose went out on the balcony and clapped her hands. A golden
bird came flying out of nowhere and alighted on her shoulder. Instantly, the princess's hair
began to shine, ablaze with brilliant red light.
When the bird started to warble an enchanting tune, Princess Rose joined it in a song, and
everyone in the kingdom fell asleep and had sweet dreams till the break of dawn.

Thus passed the years. Every evening Princess Rose, along with the little golden bird, sang
a loving lullaby, so that all people fell asleep and had sweet dreams till the break of dawn.

Until one day something terrible happened. A wicked witch learned about Princess Rose
and decided to curse her. "Abracadabra, Sim-Sala-Bim, may the rose's color dim!" the witch
said, and Princess Rose's hair instantly turned as black as tar.

That evening, too, Princess Rose went out on her balcony and clapped her hands. But
when the golden bird appeared, her hair glowed black instead of red. The bird warbled its
enchanting melody, and Princess Rose sang her lullaby.
Everyone in the kingdom fell asleep, but that night they only had bad dreams and
nightmares.
On the following day, the saddened princess asked the bird, "Tell me, golden bird, how can
I make my people's dreams so sweet again till the break of dawn?"
"Black hair in rose water," the bird chirped in reply.
The princess wondered at this counsel, but abided by it, nevertheless.

She filled up a basin with water and sprinkled rose petals on its surface. Then, she dipped
her hair into the rose water, and it instantly turned red again.

That evening, when the bird perched on her shoulder, the radiant red glow of her hair lit up
the night sky once more. The Princess sang her lullaby, and everyone in the kingdom fell
asleep and had sweet dreams till the break of dawn.
The wicked witch was so very angry that her curse had been broken that she decided to
cast it again.
"Abracadabra, Sim-Sala-Bim, may the rose's color dim!" And the princess's hair turned as
black as tar again.
Only this time the witch also picked up all of the rose blooms in the entire kingdom.
"Let's see how you'll break my curse now!" she sneered, filled with rage.

Once again, the saddened princess asked the bird, "Tell me, golden bird, how can I make
my people's dreams so sweet again till the break of dawn?"
"Black hair in rose water," the bird chirped in reply.
"But where should I find a rose?"
"Black hair in rose water," the bird chirped and flew away.

The princess didn't know what to do. So great was her anguish that her eyes filled with
tears, one of them falling to the ground below. At that very moment, a young and handsome
prince, who had stopped under the balcony of the princess, took out a little box and a single
red hair from within it.

He bent down and placed the hair atop the princess's tear. And then, a miracle happened.
Suddenly, the red hair turned into a red rose.

The prince picked the rose and took it up to the princess. Upon seeing the rose, she
immediately brushed off her tears and plucked its petals to add to the water in the basin.
Then, she dipped in her hair, and the curse was broken. Everyone gasped in astonishment,
and the King asked the prince, "Young man, where did you find that red hair?"
"When the princess and I were both children, I picked a single strand of hair from her head
as a sign of my loyalty to her. And she did the same to me, pulling out a strand of my own
hair."
"It's true, father," the princess confirmed and took out a little box. She opened it to reveal a
single hair from the prince's head inside.

Everyone was delighted with this news. The prince and Princess Rose got married on that
very same day.

Upon learning that her curse had been broken again, the wicked witch's evilness swelled so
much that she exploded into a thousand tiny pieces. Eventually, rose blooms sprang up in
every garden in the kingdom once again. And so it went: each evening Princess Rose sang
her loving lullaby, so that all people fell asleep and had sweet dreams till the break of dawn.
FANTASY
A Man Called Happiness
Written by Peter J. Barbour

In the forest, the trees were so tall, they seemed to reach the clouds. The dark, damp, misty quiet
around them gave the forest an eerie feeling. There were animals in the forest; deer, elk, squirrels,
and chipmunks, and in the evening a rabbit might cross their path. They were convinced that larger
animals must be there as well, as they came across scat that announced the presence of bears
and, possibly, mountain lions. They carried long pointed sticks to protect themselves. Justin,
Jake, and Elan kept to narrow paths left by migrating animals. The paths were soft, cushioned by
a pine needles and leaves. Along the paths were ferns, some as high as the boys were tall. They
had been walking for weeks living off the bounty of the forest and what they were able to carry with
them. The fish were plentiful in the streams they crossed, and it was easy to spear them with their
sharp sticks. The days were getting shorter, the nights cooler, and rain came more frequently,
usually in the form of a heavy mist that nevertheless soaked them deeply.

“How much farther do you think we have to go before we reach home?” Jake asked.

“I don’t know?” Justin responded. “I believe if we are walking in the right direction, we will
eventually get there.”

“If the ocean is to our left, and the mountains are to our right, and we haven’t strayed too far
east, we should be headed north. “ Elan concluded. “The sun comes up in the east over there.“ He
pointed to his right, “therefore those mountains are the eastern mountains.”

“Great,” Jake said irritably. “That is all correct, but how far do we have to go before we get
home.”

“I don’t know,” Elan returned. “Don’t be so impatient. Just put one foot in front of the other
and have faith that you will eventually get to where you are going, as long as we are walking in the
right direction.”

“Patience?” Jake sighed wearily. “Patience?”

“Yes," Justin chimed in, "you won’t get there any faster if you become impatient, and you
are wasting energy by agitating about it. It makes you unhappy and annoys those around
you. Instead of fussing about the time you feel you're wasting by having to be patient, enjoy the
time you get to spend in this strange forest. You may never be here again. Take a big breath, let it
out slowly, and refocus your attention on walking and the beauty around you.”

“Not easy,” Jake mumbled as he took a deep breath as suggested by his brother and
looked around. The forest was beautiful but forbidding.

They continued to walk, and the morning was soon spent. The sky darkened; the air
became cooler. It wasn’t long before rain began to fall in a fine mist. They covered themselves
with their canvas blankets and walked on. The sky became darker and the rain increased. No
longer a mist, drops fell steadily. The path took them through dense foliage. The long green
fronds of the ferns bent by the weight of the raindrops as the water ran off them onto the
ground. The birds had abandoned the sky, and the moss, on the north side of the trees, seemed to
glow in the dim light. The patter of rain, though soothing to the ear, made them wet and
uncomfortable. The forest became all the more dark and even more forbidding.

“Jake and Elan,” Justin called to get their attention. “Do you see that?” He pointed to an
exceptionally large redwood tree, in the middle of which, at ground level, there appeared to be a
door. “Do you suppose that is someone’s home?”

The door was smooth in contrast to the roughened bark of the tree. They saw this as an
opportunity to get out of the rain and hoped that someone was home. They walked quickly up to
the door and knocked. A round disc in the middle of the door covered a peephole. They heard
steps behind the door. Then, the disc seemed to magically slide aside, and the boys assumed
they were being watched.

“I’m Justin, this is Jake and Elan,” Justin spoke to the peephole. “We’re very wet, and we’d
hoped we could come in to get out of the rain.”

“Welcome!” They heard someone call from inside and were relieved that someone was
there, appeared friendly, and gave them prospect for having shelter from the rain.

The door opened, and they were able to step into a room carved into the tree. They were
not surprised by the spaciousness of the room given the circumference of the tree. The entry hall
was dark. They placed their gear on hooks attached to the wall and took off their shoes so as not
to soil the shiny wooden floor on which they stood. The owner of the dwelling led them upstairs
that brought them to a second floor more brightly lit than the foyer below. Candles illuminated the
second floor, and windows emitted additional light. The room was partitioned into a sitting area
and a kitchen. Along the wall, a stair spiraled up to yet another floor where the boys presumed
there was a bedroom. The owner took a seat on a stool and asked them to sit.

“Thank you for letting us into your home so that we can get dry,” Justin said.

“My pleasure.” The man said. He appeared older than they were, old enough to be their
father. He wore a gray shirt, the sleeves rolled to mid-forearms, and jeans. His boots came up to
mid-calf and his pants were tucked into his boots. His arms and legs were long and appeared
gnarled like the tree limbs of the tree in which he lived. “My name is Happiness, you can call me
Hap. I am grateful to have your company. What brings you to this forest?"

"We are on our way to the Valley of the Black Dog," Jake said. "Do you now the way?"

"I know that at the northern end of a great lake that is in the mountains, there is a stream
that leads to a valley. I believe that is the Valley of the Black Dog," Hap answered. "I have never
been there, and I'm not sure how far it is. The lake is like a long narrow inland sea nestled in the
mountains."

Jake was excited just to know that they were on the right path.

"How did you come to live here?" Elan inquired.

"I live alone," Hap responded. "I was on a trek, so long ago, that I've forgotten where I was
headed. I found this tree with the center partially cut away, I’m not sure how or why. It was
beautiful here, quiet, and peaceful. I carved the living areas out carefully in order to preserve the
tree, so my home remains living as well as lived-in, a truly symbiotic relationship. My native village
is no more than a 2-day walk from here. I can travel home frequently, if I desire, to see family and
friends. People are always happy to see me, and I am happy to see them. "The boys listened to
Hap, whose voice was soft and kind. “My parents named me Hap,” Hap continued, “short for
Happiness. It seems I’ve never been very unhappy, at least not for very long; and, wherever I go, I
seem to bring happiness. So, I am aptly named. Things don’t always go well for me, I make
mistakes, things break, some days I have less to eat than others, and, sometimes, I even become
lonely living in the forest the way I do.”

“And, none of that makes you unhappy?” Jake asked.

“No, because my happiness comes from within me. So, when I lose happiness, I just have
to remember from where my happiness comes. It would be a shame to solely rely on external
sources for happiness. Happiness would be much too easy to lose, and true happiness could
constantly elude you. One should not be dependent on things for their happiness. Always
knowing from where my happiness comes is a great comfort, because I always know where to find
it, should it ever disappear.”

“Are there keys to finding happiness? I mean, what do you do when lose it?" Jake asked.

Hap smiled back at Jake. "When I temporarily misplace it, you mean, because I’ve never
permanently lost it. I always know where, or better yet, how to find it. Happiness is in my head,
and I can bring out happiness by doing certain things. When I feel anxious, upset, or sad, I label
my feelings, and that way, I acknowledge them. I don't deny or try to hide those bad feelings. That
makes me happy. I think about what I need to do to make me feel better. Just doing that makes
me happy. I make a plan and decide to act on it. Making a decision to do something makes me
happy. Most importantly, I am grateful, for all that I have and who I am. Thinking about those
things for which I am grateful makes me happy. Being around other people makes me happy. For
that, I can always go home. That makes me happy and it makes others happy as well. Those are
my keys to happiness."

The room brightened as the rain stopped and sunlight, albeit muted by the tall trees around
them, streamed in through the windows. The boys were thankful that they had gotten out of the
rain, and even more thankful that they’d found Happiness. They were dry and wanted to continue
on their journey. Hap asked if they could stay, and they stayed long enough to share lunch. Hap,
like his tree home, seemed brighter, and happy for the wisdom he was able to share. Once they
finished eating, the boys said good-bye and started on their way once again.

Jake looked around as he walked behind Elan and Justin in silence. They had decided to
head northeast towards the mountains in search of the inland sea and the gateway to the Valley of
the Black Dog. The sky was visible in patches of blue through the mesh of branches whose pine
needles glistened from the rain. He thought about how grateful he was for the beauty that
surrounded him and the companionship of his brother and cousin. They were instituting their
plan. Jake broke the silence and said aloud, though mostly to himself, “Ain’t no stopping us now.”
FANTASY
Epiphany
Written by Marie Anderson
After the meeting, Leo hurried back to his office and filled his briefcase and pockets with
everything that mattered. His company mug brimmed with cold coffee. He poured the coffee
over his PC’s keyboard, then threw the mug at a framed portrait mounted on the wall. The
portrait was of the company’s founder. Both the mug and the glass covering the portrait
shattered.
Gossip would travel fast. And fierce. He had to—had to—tell Irene before she heard it from
anyone else. Whether or not it would matter, the awfulness coming first from his lips, well,
he had to believe it would.
He strode down the hall, ripping off his ID and flinging it at a potted plant. The strap caught
on the branch of a violently green Norfolk Pine and dangled his name badge like a horrific
Christmas ornament—Leo Gulliby, HR Coordinator, Rubagub Robotics, Inc.
At the elevator, he punched the down button over and over, though the signal lights showed
that the elevator was stalled five floors above him.
No time to wait. And the moving coffin would likely be crammed with noisy, nosy
Rubagubbers, their mouths sizzling gossip, their dilated eyes shooting schadenfreude.
At him. Dear Lord. This time at him.
He’d take the stairs.
Three flights he pounded down, strode on shaky legs through the lobby.
Behind the reception desk, Nora filed purple fingernails and chewed gum.
“Toodle-loo, Leo!” She blew a gummy pink bubble from pink puffy lips.
He’d hired this creature! Why had he hired this creature? Now he had only himself to blame.
The insolence of this girl! Obviously, she’d already heard about what had transpired at the
meeting. How could she have already heard? It had all just happened, what, five minutes
ago?
Leo reached the exit, stopped, spun around, and shot both his middle fingers at her.
Nora’s oversized, over-mascared eyes widened. Then she laughed.
“Well, Lucky Leo, Leo Love, aren’t you just full of vim and verve. You know, sweetheart,
maybe if you’d shown some of that spunk at,” she finger-quoted, “‘The Meeting,’ you
wouldn’t be running away like a scared little puppy with those big brown eyes of yours
leaking chocolate tears.”
Leo blinked, shocked to realize that his eyes really were dripping. He swiped at the tears,
relieved to see that they were the normal, human, clear color. Not chocolate. Nora was just
punching his buttons. Yanking his chain. She’d never quite forgiven him for ending things
with her. Not that there’d been much to end. They’d only had three dates, and then he’d met
Irene.
“F – U!” he shouted, and pushed open the thick glass door.
Nora’s last words—hopefully the last of her helium-high voice he’d ever hear—were cut off
when the door closed: “Drive safe, Leo! The roads are slick and—”
Wind and snow scoured Leo as he ran to the parking lot.
The parking lot was surrounded by a sea of grass, now silked with fresh snow. The snow-
silk blanket would stay pure and smooth until melted by sun. No one ever stepped foot on it.
Not even geese, squirrels, or rabbits dared trespass anymore. The grounds crew was
superb at their job. Leo and Irene had both enjoyed many meals of roasted goose
dispatched by the crew. Well, Irene had certainly seemed to enjoy the meat. Leo was not
much of a meat-eater, but he’d faked it for Irene’s sake. Faking was easy. Except there was
nothing fake about his love for Irene.
Irene! She’d understand! She had to! She loved him! She did!
F-the laws that made their marriage a crime! Human history was replete with laws that
criminalized what the heart was, what the heart wanted. Humans. Their own worst enemy.
But Leo and Irene could be pioneers in effecting change! Yes! That’s how he’d frame it for
her.
Leo reached his Chevy Malibu. His shoulders sagged. It was the only car not swept free of
snow.
So even the car lot attendants had heard about “The Meeting.” Had realized that Leo was
now . . . Not Important. Oh, he knew he was way too valuable to be terminated. But he’d
crossed a line. A Big Line. Entered the one place forbidden to him. He’d be demoted.
Downgraded. Unless . . .he never returned. He’d grab Irene. They’d disappear.
As fast as his shivering muscles allowed, Leo broomed snow off the Malibu, flung his
trembling body behind the wheel, and zoomed away. He hoped forever. He hoped he would
never again see the corporate headquarters of Rubagub Robotics. Ten stories of brick, red
as a scab, packed with flaggy, flappy figures whose scruples were as gummery as wet
bread. Whose faces were as fat and crisped as toasted pigs. Where he’d spent his entire
working life—first and only job right after he’d been certified—six years ago.
G-damn Rubagub Robotics.
Yet, it was Rubagub Robotics that had brought Irene into his life. She’d been a bartender at
the company Christmas party. Impossibly blue eyes. Hair that seemed spun from sun. A
voice that bubbled champagne right into his core.
Now it was Rubagub that would take her away from him. No! He would not let that happen.
He had to reach her before “they” did. He knew the drill. The Dispatchers, all four of them,
would eventually show up. Start the Dispatching Process. Make her sign the Confidentiality
Agreement. Then the Termination Form. Not even give her a chance to beg, to explain, to
melt whatever empathy or sympathy was frozen inside their bloated bodies.
If he could just get to her first. Explain. Apologize. Beg for her forgiveness. Then they could
present a united front. Stop the Dispatching.
He gunned the engine. The Malibu slipped and slid over slick roads. At least there were few
other cars to dodge. Everyone was tucked away at their tasks at the workaholic hour of 11
in the morning.
Snow lapped and spit at his windshield. Wind buffeted the car sideways.
One hand steadied the wheel. His other hand scraped his phone from his briefcase as he
sped toward home. Home. His secret beautiful white clapboard house surrounded by trees.
Twenty-two miles away from Rubagub. Where, though not pregnant, Irene would likely be
knitting another pair of baby booties or another baby blanket or rearranging the nursery
whose crib he’d made himself. Unless the Dispatchers had already arrived.
“Oh God, Irene!” he wailed. “I am so sorry!”
He plugged his phone into the dash console. Should he call her now? But he had to stay
focused on the road. It would be better face-to-face, so she could collapse in his arms, or he
in hers.
Car exhaust boiled around the Malibu like arctic mist as he blasted down the tree-lined
highway. Ten more miles. Not much longer.
But then his cell phone vibrated, and Irene’s face filled the dashboard screen. Icicles
hardened her eyes.
“Leo. How could you?”
“Irene, you know? How do you know? I’m almost home. I’ll explain. We’ll fix this. I love you.
I’m sorry.”
“They’re already here,” she said. “They’re in the”—her voice broke—“the nursery, packing
everything up. I asked them to do that for me first.”
“First? What? No! Who? Who’s there?”
But he already knew, even as Irene said the names.
“Mr. Nidd. Mr. Drover. Both Binnacles.”
The Dispatchers. All four of them. They must have set out for his home while he was being
humiliated in the meeting. So much for a secret home. He had no secrets now.
“Irene. We can divorce. That’s our only crime. Getting married! I didn’t want to, but you—”
“Don’t you dare put this on me, Leo! You promised me children! And you knew I wasn’t
going to have children without being married! You deceived me! You made me believe I
could have babies with you!”
“I love you, Irene. With or without babies. And we could adopt. That was always my plan.
So I wasn’t really deceiving you.”
Her blue eyes stared at him without blinking. “I wanted babies,” she said. “My own babies.
With you.”
From her beautiful eyes, the epiphany blasted at him like a missile: she did not love him
enough; or she did not love him anymore; or being a mother was more important to her than
being his lover.
“When they’re done with the nursery, Leo, I told them I’d sign whatever they want me to
sign. We’re over, Leo. Don’t come home.”
He stared at her beautiful face as it faded from the screen. The car wheels suddenly
bumped and pounded. He looked up. A suddenness of trees filled the windshield.
*
A short while later, the same Rubagub crew that tidies corporate grounds is dispatched to
the crumpled Malibu.
“You know,” says one as he uses his titanium claws to pull a large piece of Leo from the
wreckage, “this is like the fifth time in two years a synth has tried to fake it with a human.
Whadda they think is gonna happen if they make ‘em look like humans? Of course they’re
gonna want all the bennies of being human!”
Another agrees as he extracts Leo’s head from the shattered windshield. “Give ‘em an inch,
they want a mile. Make it legal to date humans, then next thing you know, they’ll wanna
marry ‘em.”
Fiber optic tendrils dangle like tinsel from cracks in Leo’s skull. Gently, the worker tucks
them back into Leo’s head.
“Well,” says a third as he begins boxing up the extracted pieces of Leo. “I just hope this
don’t mean they’re gonna discontinue the synth line. That’ll mean layoffs for sure. We might
find ourselves being boxed up!”
“Nah,” says the fourth who is readying his suction tube. “We robots do all the grunt work
humans don’t wanna touch. They’ll always keep us.”
The crate is sealed and loaded into a company van. The van speeds back to headquarters.
The fourth crew member stays behind, vacuuming from the wreckage any small but
valuable bits the others missed. “You synths,” he mumbles. “Looking down on us bots. You
think just cuz you look human, cuz you feel human, cuz you can even eat and shit and
shiver like humans, that makes you human. Well, there’s one thing ya can’t do. And when
ya try to fake that, well, this is what happens.”
 Non-Fiction
Non-fiction or nonfiction is content (sometimes, in the form of a story) whose creator, in good faith, assumes
responsibility for the truth or accuracy of the events, people, or information presented.[1] In contrast, a story whose creator
explicitly leaves open if and how the work refers to reality is usually classified as fiction.[1][2] Nonfiction, which may be
presented either objectively or subjectively, is traditionally one of the two main divisions of narratives (and,
specifically, prose writing),[3] the other traditional division being fiction, which contrasts with nonfiction by dealing in
information, events, and characters expected to be partly or largely imaginary.

ESSAY
An essay is, generally, a piece of writing that gives the author's own argument — but the definition is vague, overlapping
with those of a paper, an article, a pamphlet, and a short story. Essays have traditionally been sub-classified as formal and
informal. Formal essays are characterized by "serious purpose, dignity, logical organization, length," whereas the informal
essay is characterized by "the personal element (self-revelation, individual tastes and experiences, confidential manner),
humor, graceful style, rambling structure, unconventionality or novelty of theme," etc.

Short Essay on Life

Life is beautiful but not always easy, it has problems, too, and the challenge lies in facing them with
courage, letting the beauty of life act like a balm, which makes the pain bearable, during trying times, by
providing hope
Happiness, sorrow, victory, defeat, day-night are the two sides of the me coin. Similarly life is full of
moments of joy, pleasure, success and comfort punctuated by misery, defeat, failures and problems. There
is no human being on Earth, strong, powerful, wise or rich, who has not experienced, struggle, suffering or
failure.
No doubt, life is beautiful and every moment – a celebration of being alive, but one should be always ready
to face adversity and challenges. A person who has not encountered difficulties in life can never achieve
success.
Difficulties test the courage, patience, perseverance and true character of a human being. Adversity and
hardships make a person strong and ready to face the challenges of life with equanimity. There is no doubt
that there can be no gain without pain. It is only when one toils and sweats it out that success is nourished
and sustained.
Thus, life is and should not be just a bed of roses; thorns are also a part of it and should be accepted by us
just as we accept the beautiful side of life.
The thorns remind one of how success and happiness can be evasive and thus not to feel disappointed
and disheartened rather remember that the pain of thorns is short-lived, and the beauty of life would soon
overcome the prick of thorns.
Those, who are under the impression that life is a bed of roses are disillusioned soon and become victims
of depression and frustration. One who faces difficulties with courage and accepts success without letting it
go to its head is the one who experience real happiness, contentment and peace in life.
Those, who think, that good times last forever, easily succumb to pressure during difficulties. They do not
put in required hard work and efforts because they break down easily.
You can take the example of a student, who burns the mid night oil, makes sacrifices and resists
temptations so that he can perform well. Similarly, a successful executive has to face the ups and downs of
life, not forgetting that life is a mix of success and failure, joy and sorrow.
If he loses hope during difficult times, he would not achieve success and would be replaced by others.
Even the strongest Kings and Emperors have had their cup of woes.
Life has not been a bed of roses for them. The adage ‘Uneasy lays the head that wears the crown’ has
been rightly used for people, who are successful and are enjoying power and authority.
To sum up, life is beautiful just as roses but it has challenges which are like thorns and have to be faced
and overcome by all. Those, who accept these, challenges and succeed, are the ones, who know how to
live life in its true sense. Thus, enjoy life but also be prepared to bear the pricks of pain.
 Non-Fiction
Non-fiction or nonfiction is content (sometimes, in the form of a story) whose creator, in good faith, assumes
responsibility for the truth or accuracy of the events, people, or information presented.[1] In contrast, a story whose creator
explicitly leaves open if and how the work refers to reality is usually classified as fiction.[1][2] Nonfiction, which may be
presented either objectively or subjectively, is traditionally one of the two main divisions of narratives (and,
specifically, prose writing),[3] the other traditional division being fiction, which contrasts with nonfiction by dealing in
information, events, and characters expected to be partly or largely imaginary.

ESSAY
An essay is, generally, a piece of writing that gives the author's own argument — but the definition is vague, overlapping
with those of a paper, an article, a pamphlet, and a short story. Essays have traditionally been sub-classified as formal and
informal. Formal essays are characterized by "serious purpose, dignity, logical organization, length," whereas the informal
essay is characterized by "the personal element (self-revelation, individual tastes and experiences, confidential manner),
humor, graceful style, rambling structure, unconventionality or novelty of theme," etc.

Sample Essay about Me

It’s My Life
My name is Ann Smith. I am a senior in high school. Everyone can agree that I am a good
student and that I like to study. My favorite subjects are chemistry and biology. I am going to enter
the universitybecause my goal is to study these subjects in future and to become a respected
professional in one of the fields.

I can say that I am a responsible and a hard-working student. Moreover, being a sociable person, I
have many friends since I like to communicate with people and get to know new interesting
individuals. I enjoy my time at school: it is really nice to study, the students are very friendly and ready
to help. The atmosphere cannot but make me want to go there every time. I like to receive and deal
with challenging tasks. I am a very enthusiastic student and I think this is a strong point of mine.

My friends say that I am a very funny and an interesting girl with a good sense of humor. As soon as
I meet new people who are happy to meet me, I feel extremely comfortable with them. I believe that
friendship is one of the most important values in human life. We exchange new ideas, find many
interesting things about each other and experience new things. I appreciate friendship and people
who surround me.

Meeting new people who support all my efforts to grow and develop my skills not only in the subjects
but also in my hobbies gives me a lot of energy. Many of those friends who surround me now I met
on the street while doing my hobby. I’m in love with photography, so the thing I love doing so much
became even more enjoyable. I decided to take beautiful pictures of accidental people and share
these photos with them by emails or in social media. I feel happiness inside seeing how happy they
are looking at the pictures where they are walking or sitting somewhere in the park. In this way, Liza
became my best friend and we both believe that we meant to meet because she studies the same
classes and we have similar life goals.

The goal I’m currently striving for is to make this world a better place to live in by starting the
changes with myself. Sure, I’ve had bad experiences in my life too, but this is exactly what made me
the way I am now: grateful, full of love, with a desire to study well because it will help me become a
successful person in future and have a high quality of life. I believe that it is manifesting day by day
and I feel even more responsibility for what I do and where I go. With all I already have, I know that
I’m on the right path and I will do my best to inspire others to live the way they feel like living as well.
 SPEECH
Speech is human vocal communication using language. Each language uses phonetic combinations
of a limited set of perfectly articulated and individualized vowel and consonant sounds that form the
sound of its words (that is, all English words sound different from all French words, even if they are
the same word, e.g., "role" or "hotel"), and using those words in their semantic character as words in
the lexicon of a language according to the syntactic constraints that govern lexical words' function in
a sentence. In speaking, speakers perform many different intentional speech acts, e.g., informing,
declaring, asking, persuading, directing, and can use enunciation, intonation, degrees
of loudness, tempo, and other non-representational or paralinguistic aspects of vocalization to
convey meaning. In their speech speakers also unintentionally communicate many aspects of their
social position such as sex, age, place of origin (through accent), physical states (alertness and
sleepiness, vigor or weakness, health or illness), psychic states (emotions or moods), physico-
psychic states (sobriety or drunkenness, normal consciousness and trance states), education or
experience, and the like.

LOVE
Love is known to be one of the most important human values. Everyone wants to
love and be loved.

Virtually everyone is capable of this wonderful feeling. Love is of multifaceted

nature. Sometimes we may endow beloved persons with qualities they do not
possess in fact. But at the same time this feeling helps to reveal all the benefits
and positive features of the person whom we love though it can be inaccessible to
the mind.

Only this true sense is able to change people for the better. It makes us forgive
and find happiness in the happiness of a beloved man or woman. Therefore, love is
the most complex and deep human feeling.

It can make miracles… Sometimes love makes people do heroic deeds, rescues from
loneliness, heals emotional wounds. Love can make life full of joy, fun and laughter.
This feeling is able to resurrect us for a brand new life, gain new strength for
creativity…

At the same time love is a very complex feeling since it is associated not only with
tenderness and joy, but with pain and tears as well… Everything is not as simple as
it may seem to be. That is why many writers compare love with falling into the
abyss.

We are all different and we all express our love in different ways. And the very
notion of “love” has a completely different meaning for various people. But we all
love and want to be loved and we are united by this desire.

This is the greatest miracle which can happen only on this planet. Those who don’t
know what love is, miss something very important in life…
 SPEECH
Speech is human vocal communication using language. Each language uses phonetic combinations
of a limited set of perfectly articulated and individualized vowel and consonant sounds that form the
sound of its words (that is, all English words sound different from all French words, even if they are
the same word, e.g., "role" or "hotel"), and using those words in their semantic character as words in
the lexicon of a language according to the syntactic constraints that govern lexical words' function in
a sentence. In speaking, speakers perform many different intentional speech acts, e.g., informing,
declaring, asking, persuading, directing, and can use enunciation, intonation, degrees
of loudness, tempo, and other non-representational or paralinguistic aspects of vocalization to
convey meaning. In their speech speakers also unintentionally communicate many aspects of their
social position such as sex, age, place of origin (through accent), physical states (alertness and
sleepiness, vigor or weakness, health or illness), psychic states (emotions or moods), physico-
psychic states (sobriety or drunkenness, normal consciousness and trance states), education or
experience, and the like.

“The Value of Friendship”4

Most of us have friends and anyone can have one. But what is friendship? Friendship is
the relationship between friends and that creates closeness and bonds. We all have
different definitions of a friend, but for me a friend can be defined as a companion that is
always there. Giving his shoulder to comfort you, helping to resolve your problem and
making you smile when they notice that you are sad, a friend that ready to hear out your ups
and downs stories regard to his life.3
When we first met them, we are rivals and strangers with each other. After a lot time
we just felt that friendship is urging within us without any word, there are times that gestures
were just enough to create a friendship that could withstand any challenges that could come
in our way.2
The value of a friend is priceless; no one can ever buy the effort that they exert to
make their friends the happiest persons in the world. It is hard to find a real friend;
sometimes it needs a due process and time to have one. Sometimes, friendships arise from
some conflicts that we encounter such as arguments and misunderstanding but if we could
just overcome all of those a greater bond between friends could be obtained and, thus, a
stronger and better friendship would eventually arise. Whatever the outcome it may impose,
acceptance of each other’s view is a must to build a harmonious relationship between
friends, for without acceptance; friendship would not exist at all.3
Friendship is a give and take relationship for sometimes we need to be a friend to be
able to gain one. We need to watch each other’s back to gain trust and establish such
relationship. Friendships are forever and thus we should value our friends like a diamond
that could withstand anything that would come to its way. The value of friendship cannot be
described by a single word instead we should find it within ourselves and be able to grow it
by sharing with others. We should let friendship grow even if we are apart, thus
communication is always important to feel a presence of care, a care of a valuable
friendship.4
Before I end this speech, I would like you to reflect on this quotation: ‘the greatest
value of having good friends is not what you get from them, but the better person you
become because of them’.
 BIOGRAPHY
A biography, or simply bio, is a detailed description of a person's life. It involves more than just the
basic facts like education, work, relationships, and death; it portrays a person's experience of these
life events. Unlike a profile or curriculum vitae (résumé), a biography presents a subject's life story,
highlighting various aspects of his or her life, including intimate details of experience, and may
include an analysis of the subject's personality.
 BIOGRAPHY
A biography, or simply bio, is a detailed description of a person's life. It involves more than just the
basic facts like education, work, relationships, and death; it portrays a person's experience of these
life events. Unlike a profile or curriculum vitae (résumé), a biography presents a subject's life story,
highlighting various aspects of his or her life, including intimate details of experience, and may
include an analysis of the subject's personality.