sadstoriesbook

[sadstoriesbook]

Bonus: The Last Article Written By Marylin…

[sadstoriesbook]

Bonus: The letter of a guilty Supremacy's soldier...

    My name is Davin Bennett; I’m a Supremacy’s soldier. Even if the Supremacy does not exist anymore, I’m sure you know about it. And if it does, it means that Marylin died for nothing.

    I sincerely hope she did not die for anything. Marylin was an amazing woman, the best person I’ve ever met. She was a marvelous author. Her words – her last words to me – pierced my bones. I know them, heart, by heart for reading them over and over again.

    “Davin, my love. I’m sure you’re regretting not fighting with your sister and me. I’m sorry, I should’ve insisted more, but we did not have time for this.

    I’m sorry for your sister. Emilia was an amazing young woman. But I hate you. I hate you because by betraying them, they did not punish you, no they decided to punish your sister. They’ve put her in a public place and made you pull the trigger.

    Now, I have questions for you. When the gun was in your hands, did you feel like a man? When you pulled the trigger, did you feel relieved? When the blood and brains of your sister were on the concrete, did you regret to join the Supremacy’s army? How do you feel right now? Do you even realize that, with who I am, I had more reasons to be at your place, to be with the Supremacy, but I didn’t?”

    She is right. My sister died because of me. I should’ve never become a Supremacy’s soldier, that led to Emilia’s death.

    I’m sorry for being the man I am. I became one of them in every aspect. I raped god knows how many women, I probably have - at least - two children. I’ve killed thousand of people, but always in the back, like the coward I am.

    Whatever the Supremacy tries to do to you, please don’t let them. Don’t let Marylin die in vain. Fight. Use her as your symbol.

    I’m guilty of so many things, but the biggest of them is my ignorance. I could say I’m sorry thousands of time, but it won’t bring back Emilia, it won’t erase the fact I raped women, and it won’t bring back Marylin. I’m guilty of my stupidity; I’m guilty of being me.

    There is not much to write. I’m not as good with words as Marylin was.

    I hope my death will be relieved to some of you; I know it is to me.

[sadstoriesbook]

Bonus: Chapter Ten: Second Ending...

    When the last Newspaper written by Marylin was published, you could almost hear everyone’s reaction.

    “Oh my god, the daughter of Clayton!” One husband says to his wife.

    “Wait, his own daughter disagrees with him?” Says a supporter of the Supremacy. “Do you think this is good? I mean…she is right. A lot of people died.” He asks his wife – wife that was raped three months ago and is now pregnant. His wife does not answer – of course, Marylin was right. Things needed to change.

    “I can’t believe it was her all along. Do you really think he will kill his daughter?”

    People that lost their loved ones cried while reading The Newspaper. Marylin was the voice of them all, if she is gone, who’s going to speak for them?

    Fewer people were supporting the Supremacy. In fact, even soldiers of the Supremacy were giving up Clayton Marshall. It makes sense; his own daughter disapproves his choices. If he can’t maintain his daughter, how can he keep a whole nation?

    When Davin read The Newspaper – when he read his part, he closed his eyes as tight as he could. “I should’ve listened to you.” He says, full of remorse. He reopened his eyes and forced himself to read the whole article. Her words definitely were her weapons; she stabbed him in the heart. And he deserved it.

    Once he finished reading the article over and over, he puts it down and stands up.

    When the very last Newspaper has been distributed, there were thousands of hundreds of people in front of Marylin’s house, some were praying for her, for them. Some were singing; some were chanting her name, some were chanting the national anthem. Even if Marylin could hear it, she wasn’t in her house anymore. She was walking to the principal public place. When someone yelled, “To the public place!” they all followed and went there.

    When the little amount left of the soldiers of the Supremacy saw Marylin, they ran to her and handcuffed her. One soldier went inside the building and into the office of Clayton.

    “Sir, your daughter is outside, we got her.”

    Clayton looks up and sighs. Does he really have to kill his daughter? Of course, he does. Does he want it? More than anything. Clayton stands up and straightens his suit, almost like he wanted to look presentable for the moment he will shoot his daughter.

    He nods and walks out of his office. When he arrives outside the whole place is silent, he looks at the people watching every move he makes.

    At this right moment when he’s standing in front of his daughter who’s holding the eye contact with her father.

    “You’ve betrayed me, Marylin.”

    “Oh Father, forgive me for what I’ve sinned…” Marylin was smiling. She knew what was coming.

    To Davin’s side – he went to his bedroom and took his gun. Should he be a coward until the end? It will make sense anyway, and to be honest with himself, he’s not the type to fight, not like Marylin who was standing in front of her father, the leader of the Supremacy.

    So he decided to give up, he did not want to fight at all – whether it was the right or wrong side. He killed his sister, and the girl he loved was going to die too. So if there is truly a Heaven as they say, if he’s lucky enough for him to be forgiven of his sins, he will go up there and will join his sister and Marylin. But he did not think much of it if there were a Heaven and a Hell – he’s going to hell for what he did. And he deserved it, at least that is what he thought.

    Clayton closes his eyes. Marylin was irritating him, and he knew this is what she wants. He stands up straight and speaks louder for everyone to hear.

    “You’ve transgressed every law of the Supremacy. As the daughter of the leader you should’ve never betrayed your nation and me.”

    “I’m honoring my country by standing up to you, who wants to destroy it! Your way is not the way to do things! You can’t decide life or death on another human, you don’t have this right, you don’t have this power and you never will. You might kill me today, but my memory will remain, the souvenir of my acts will keep me alive.”

    Clayton raises his hand. “Give me the gun.” One of the soldiers gives him the gun. Clayton charges it without breaking eye contact with Marylin. “On your knees.” He orders. Marylin scoffs “Never, father.”

    Davin looks at the picture of Emilia, Marylin and him. He sadly smiles, he loads the gun, aims it to his temple, he tries to pull the trigger but puts down the weapon and sighs. “I can’t. I have to fight.” On the table next to the picture of the three of them, was an envelope, “The letter of a guilty Supremacy’s soldier.” Davin looks at it and stands up.

    “I have to fight.”

    Clayton aims the gun at Marylin’s head; he takes the safety off and shoots. You could hear a global “Oh!” from the citizens. There was a silence, Clayton took a moment to put his arm down. He looks at the body of his daughter on the ground in a pool of her own blood.

    “Let my daughter be an example of the consequences of betraying your nation and me. If any of you think you might get pity from me, remember the day I shot my own daughter. We own you; you owe us!”

    Nobody said anything. He was right if he did not hesitate to kill his daughter he would never hesitate to kill one of them. Then suddenly you could hear someone screaming “Let me pass! Let me pass!” People let the man move as he asked. Once he arrived in front of Marylin’s dead body, he stopped walking. “No…”

    Clayton recognized the man. It was Davin.

    “How could you? You killed your daughter!” Davin then turns around to face everyone. “He killed his daughter! A girl we dreamed, loved, wrote, read, sang! A daughter who loved life, who loved to laugh and discover new books. This could be your daughter right here. And if you let things stay the way they are, this is going to be your daughter one day, too. You have to move! You have to fight, for your children, for Marylin. Please don’t let her die in vain.”

    You could hear all of them screaming “For Marylin!” The last ten Supremacy’s soldiers aim their guns at them and shoot. Clayton runs back to his office but stops when a shot almost touched him. He turns around and sees three soldiers on the ground and seven soldiers aiming their guns at him.

    “What are you doing? I’m your leader!” Yells Clayton.

    “Not anymore. Kill him.”

    Each of the soldiers empties their guns on Clayton. When the gun shots are done the silence comes back. Davin walks to the body of Clayton; he looks at it, then back at the citizens. “He’s dead!” He screams. The citizen’s cheers.

    The funeral of Marylin was beautiful. They gave her the funeral of a US Soldier. They sang the national anthem and Amazing Grace.

    It took time to rebuild the US, years even. And at each symbol was a copy of the last article of Marylin, the original was in the new Chicago Tribune.

    Even years and years after, parents use Marylin as a model for their daughters and use Davin’s letter as a model for their sons.

    Even if there were no skyscrapers, towers, anthem, or flags as a symbol of freedom, hope, and love, there still would be the memory of Marylin and Davin as symbols. And this is the real aim Sad Stories was for.

[sadstoriesbook]

Chapter Nine: First Ending...

    When the last Newspaper written by Marylin was published, you could almost hear everyone’s reaction.

    “Oh my god, the daughter of Clayton!” One husband says to his wife.

    “Wait, his own daughter disagrees with him?” Says a supporter of the Supremacy. “Do you think this is good? I mean…she is right. A lot of people died.” He asks his wife – wife that was raped three months ago and is now pregnant. His wife does not answer – of course, Marylin was right. Things needed to change.

    “I can’t believe it was her all along. Do you really think he will kill his daughter?”

    People that lost their loved ones cried while reading The Newspaper. Marylin was the voice of them all, if she is gone, who’s going to speak for them?

    Fewer people were supporting the Supremacy. In fact, even soldiers of the Supremacy were giving up Clayton Marshall. It makes sense; his own daughter disapproves his choices. If he can’t maintain his daughter, how can he keep a whole nation?

    When Davin read The Newspaper – when he read his part, he closed his eyes as tight as he could. “I should’ve listened to you.” He says, full of remorse. He reopened his eyes and forced himself to read the whole article. Her words definitely were her weapons; she stabbed him in the heart. And he deserved it.

    Once he finished reading the article over and over, he puts it down and stands up.

    When the very last Newspaper has been distributed, there were thousands of hundreds of people in front of Marylin’s house, some were praying for her, for them. Some were singing; some were chanting her name, some were chanting the national anthem. Even if Marylin could hear it, she wasn’t in her house anymore. She was walking to the principal public place. When someone yelled, “To the public place!” they all followed and went there.

    When the little amount left of the soldiers of the Supremacy saw Marylin, they ran to her and handcuffed her. One soldier went inside the building and into the office of Clayton.

    “Sir, your daughter is outside, we got her.”

    Clayton looks up and sighs. Does he really have to kill his daughter? Of course, he does. Does he want it? More than anything. Clayton stands up and straightens his suit, almost like he wanted to look presentable for the moment he will shoot his daughter.

    He nods and walks out of his office. When he arrives outside the whole place is silent, he looks at the people watching every move he makes.

    At this right moment when he’s standing in front of his daughter who’s holding the eye contact with her father.

    “You’ve betrayed me, Marylin.”

    “Oh Father, forgive me for what I’ve sinned…” Marylin was smiling. She knew what was coming.

    To Davin’s side – he went to his bedroom and took his gun. Should he be a coward until the end? It will make sense anyway, and to be honest with himself, he’s not the type to fight, not like Marylin who was standing in front of her father, the leader of the Supremacy.

    So he decided to give up, he did not want to fight at all – whether it was the right or wrong side. He killed his sister, and the girl he loved was going to die too. So if there is truly a Heaven as they say, if he’s lucky enough for him to be forgiven of his sins, he will go up there and will join his sister and Marylin. But he did not think much of it if there were a Heaven and a Hell – he’s going to hell for what he did. And he deserved it, at least that is what he thought.

    Clayton closes his eyes. Marylin was irritating him, and he knew this is what she wants. He stands up straight and speaks louder for everyone to hear.

    “You’ve transgressed every law of the Supremacy. As the daughter of the leader you should’ve never betrayed your nation and me.”

    “I’m honoring my country by standing up to you, who wants to destroy it! Your way is not the way to do things! You can’t decide life or death on another human, you don’t have this right, you don’t have this power and you never will. You might kill me today, but my memory will remain, the souvenir of my acts will keep me alive.”

    Clayton raises his hand. “Give me the gun.” One of the soldiers gives him the gun. Clayton charges it without breaking eye contact with Marylin. “On your knees.” He orders. Marylin scoffs “Never, father.”

    Davin looks at the picture of Emilia, Marylin and him. He sadly smiles, he loads the gun, aims it to his temple and pulls the trigger. His body falls limp on the ground, his blood on the ground and the walls. On the table next to the picture of the three of them, was an envelope, “The letter of a guilty Supremacy’s soldier.”

    Clayton aims the gun at Marylin’s head; he takes the safety off and shoots. You could hear a global “Oh!” from the citizens. There was a silence, Clayton took a moment to put his arm down. He looks at the body of his daughter on the ground in a pool of her own blood.

    “Let my daughter be an example of the consequences of betraying your nation and me. If any of you think you might get pity from me, remember the day I shot my own daughter. We own you; you owe us!”

    Nobody said anything. He was right if he did not hesitate to kill his daughter he would never hesitate to kill one of them. So even after years after Marylin’s death – nothing changed, no things went worse. When Clayton died, his son he had with a woman he raped, took his place. People would say that he’s worse than Clayton, but on Marylin’s death anniversary, they remember that no one can be worse than Clayton. When the previous generation died, and the new one took place, things were moving as Clayton Jr. wanted.

    How did you want things to happen? They grew up in a world where raping women is the only way to keep the high Supremacy going, where when you’re too old to be useful, you must die. In a world where little girls or little boys can’t reproduce themselves, they get killed.

    Once a week, every house was being searched for any trace of betrail. The highest crime is to have anything related to Marylin Marshall, she is a real symbol of hope, even to the new generation. Her story is shared from mother to daughter or son and on to the next.

    Parents use Marylin as a model for their daughters and use Davin’s letter as a model for their sons.

    Perhaps there is no skyscraper, towers, anthem, or flags as a symbol of freedom, hope, and love, but there is still the memory of Marylin and Davin as symbols. And this is the real aim Sad Stories was for.

[sadstoriesbook]

Chapter Eight...

    The same day that the newspaper got out with the pictures and everything I had and wrote about the death scene of the couple that died, the Supremacy’s soldiers were searching every house, every room to find anything on me.

    To my surprise, they did not lock up Davin, no. But they are using him against me. Not that any of it will work. I might seem rude and a bitch right now, but if you were living in the world I live in today, you’d learn never to get stuck on something, to move on, faster.

    I’m running out of time to write Sad Stories. I don’t think I will have a chance to finish it. So this chapter will probably be the last one I’m going to write.

    If you’ve read until now, thank you for sticking with me, I appreciate you letting me tell my story. I never thought it would hurt me to come to terms with this book.

    When I believe that the purpose of this book was to talk about my favorite books and now here I am, telling you the story of how our world has been destroyed by the leader of the Supremacy, Clayton Marshall.

    Davin was right. I did become one of my sad stories. But I don’t care. So what if I become one of them? At least I tried my best to fight for what I believed. Because, in the end, today, the Newspaper is way bigger than it used to be, less and fewer people trust the Supremacy, they’re losing their power, people start to revolt, they start to fight. This was a genuine purpose of Sad Stories, to help people.

    I sincerely hope I, at least, inspired you to fight for what you love. Don’t let fear stop you. I’m afraid, I’m scared to death, but maybe my death will be the last one. Because in the Newspaper of today, I signed my name.

    You’re wondering who I am, am I right? Before I say my name, I just want to say something.

    First, this chapter will be in the last Newspaper written by me. It will appear tonight. And when this chapter is out, this will make things move faster than it used to. Things will change, the Supremacy will be even more at risk. And that’s the purpose. My death is the aim. After the Newspaper goes out with this chapter on the front page, I will turn myself in, right in front of him. For him to understand, for them to know that I’m standing up for them, that I’m doing this for them, and now it’s their time to fight back, together, united like we used to be back then. It’s time for the United States of America to be what she used to be before, the land of the free and the home of the brave.

    Raise your flag up high, be proud to be human, be proud to be a citizen, be proud to be for equality, love, hope, and happiness. Be who you are, fight for the ones who can’t, fight for the people you love, fight with the others. Fight together, as a nation. Mark the history for bravery, and not for cowardice.

    I’m not telling you it will be easy; I’m not telling you it’ll be okay. A lot of people will die, whether you like it or not. But if you let things stay the way they are, way more people are about to die.

    Think about your mother that will be killed because she’s getting too old. Think about your dad being killed because he can’t construct anything anymore. Think about your little sister being raped because she needs to reproduce herself. Think about your little brother being trained to become one of them. Think about your child going through what you’ve been through.

    Think about you but about others. You all deserve peace. Please, don’t give up.

    Rebuild our symbols and create new ones to remind whoever who wants to be the second Supremacy that you will fight back, and harder than before.

    Educate your children, tell them about this, tell them that whatever happens, they cannot give up.

    Davin, my love. I’m sure you’re regretting not fighting with your sister and me. I’m sorry, I should’ve insisted more, but we did not have time for this.

    I’m sorry for your sister. Emilia was an amazing young woman. But I hate you. I hate you because by betraying them, they did not punish you, no they decided to punish your sister. They’ve put her in a public place and made you pull the trigger.

    Now, I have questions for you. When the gun was in your hands, did you feel like a man? When you pulled the trigger, did you feel relieved? When the blood and brains of your sister were on the concrete, did you regret to join the Supremacy’s army? How do you feel right now? Do you even realize that, with who I am, I had more reasons to be at your place, to be with the Supremacy, but I didn’t?

    As I said before, choosing the right road is harder than the wrong path. I know it is, but I’ve chosen the right way. It was paved with good and bad intentions, paved with sadness, but now that I’ve arrived at the wanted destination, the landscape of a bright and sunny future mesmerize me.

    I realize that I have to put the final dot of this book. Emilia…I’m sorry for what happened to you; I’m sorry that Davin was your brother.

    Mom…I miss you so much, but I’m coming soon. I won’t be long; I just need to finish a thing or two. Dad…well…more specifically…Grandpa. Wait you don’t understand? Well, I guess I could tell you, I’m arriving at the end anyway.

    Remember when I told you that they made my dad kill my mom because she was getting too old? No. They made my grandfather kill my mother. I call him dad because, for me, he’s my dad. But I do have a father, I mean who doesn’t? But you know him. I’ve mentioned him before. Not much but enough for you to know who he is.

    But before I say my name, which will tell you who my father is, I have to finish this.

    Davin, thank you for prepping me to fight. I would’ve never defeated you if you did not train me. I’m sorry you became who you are today. The Supremacy does this to a good person. Because you are, at least you were.

    Thank you to each of you who made the Newspaper travel faster to the Supremacy. Thank you for making noises with me.

    And dad. I’m sorry you are who you are. I can’t believe you’ve forced grandpa to kill mom.

    Wait you still don’t get it? Okay. Fine.

    You’ll figure it out anyway as the last paper of the Newspaper written by me will be out tonight. And signed by the one and only, Marylin Marshall, the daughter of Clayton Marshall. So, Dad, proud of your daughter yet?

    I hope not.

[sadstoriesbook]

Chapter Seven...

    Surprisingly, Davin did not cave in. He came to me, to warn me.

    “You have to leave. They’re after you.”

    “No, wrong. You’re after me. And I know, but I’m not leaving.”

    “Please, I don’t want to lose you…”

    I couldn’t believe he told me this. He didn’t want to lose me? Did it ever occur to him that the day he decided to fight with the Supremacy, he lost me?

    “You already lost me, Davin! You lost me when you walked out of this door to fight for Clayton Marshall.”

    Clayton Marshall is the leader of the Supremacy. A tall man, brown hair, dark eyes, and this smirk that could be made by the devil himself.

    “What? But I told you, they are threatening my sister!”

    “As long as the Supremacy will be there, as long as we know at 50 years old they will kill her. If you fight with them, you’ll give them more chances. If you fight with me, against them, we will have more opportunities to save the thousands of sisters.”

    “You can’t ask me to chose.”

    “But I do.”

    “Then I’m asking you to chose.”

    “You’re asking me to chose between you, or…me? Then, fine. Tell them where I live, where I hide. Give it up. Be a man. But if I have to go down, I’ll go down with my dignity. And between us, you can’t tell that for yourself. Get out of here.”

    “If you really loved me, you would have never asked me to chose.”

    “If you really loved your sister and me, you’d fight on our side.”

    Davin’s visit made something click in me; I needed to taunt the Supremacy, and for that, I had the best idea.

Newspaper - 2022-09-05

    Since the leader of the Supremacy took power, Clayton Marshall has been very clear about his attentions and the laws.

    When he took his power, he swore to the nation that he would do whatever it takes to bring this country back on her feet. But I’m going to ask a question. What did he do? He destroyed our symbols, places where we made memories with the ones we love, took our faith, dignity, and dreams away from us.

    Now, I know you might support him, but please, take a moment, and think. Did you want these beautiful landscapes to be destroyed? Did you want our symbols to be taken down? Did you want your wife, daughter or sister to be raped to keep the Supremacy going? Do you want this?

    If so, then I’m sorry. Don’t read this. If you never wanted so, please, I’m begging you, in the name of the new generation, don’t let them grow up in a world where violence, rape, and patriarchy is the only way around.

    Equality, rights, love, hope, support, dreams, happiness, all of this, it deserves to be celebrated, we deserve it.

    The Supremacy is after me. I’ve heard it. Davin McLane came and told it to me. His sister and I talked, he’s with the Supremacy, it means he agrees with their acts. He used to say to me to work on the opponent in front of me. Here I am, using the only weapon I know heart by heart. Words.

    I’m calling out to you who are reading this, take a look around you. Look at the houses, look at the schools, look at the playgrounds, the hospital, the police station, our skyscrapers. Look at them or what’s left of them.

    Hear. Listen to the cry of the mothers, listen to the cry of the daughters praying for the Supremacy Soldier to not rape her, listen to the cry of a father that cannot keep his family safe. Hear the gun shot that killed someone from the LGBTQ+ community, listen to the gun shot that killed a little girl because she couldn’t have children. Listen to the gun shot that killed your mother because she’s too old to be useful for them. Listen.

    Pay attention to your surroundings.

    Ignorance and fear are as explosive as an atomic bomb. You can choose to stay ignorant, or you can decide to open your eyes, to finally listen and to be hit by the reality.

    It hurts, I know. You’re scared, I know, me too. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry you have to go through this, but it’s time to fight. Find your weapon(s), use it.

    Things need to change. We need to fight for the next generation.

¨

    This time I wasn’t the one to distribute the journal. I put it where the Statue of The Republic, in Jackson Park, used to be.

    Yes, I said used. It’s not here anymore. They took it away. What? I thought you understood by now that we’re not a republic.

    We’re nothing to them.

    Remember the couple that lost their son in the fire of their house? Today they were found dead. Of course, the Supremacy Tribune assures it’s a - tragic - accidents and the Supremacy have nothing - not that we ever thought they had - to do with it.

    People believed it. I mean, they lost their house and their son. What would you do? Some people said they were so desperate that they killed themselves. I’m going to admit; it occurred to me. But then, it seems…too perfect; it seems to make too much sense.

    And let me remind you, I’m a journalist. Even if this is real, even if they actually killed themselves, I can only be sure by checking. So I decided to make my own investigation.

    No matter the answer, both would make sense.

    The first step, go where the bodies were found. The bodies were found in the only room of their house that did not burn down, in the library.

    I wait for the night to fall and go to their house wearing all black. The fact that they destroyed everything, including the street lights.

    When I arrive there, I’m careful to not walk on anything. I take my camera and do several pictures of the room in the highest quality. I write on my notebook a description of each photograph.

    I take my notebook and write a diagram and describe the items of evidence and the possible relationship to the body or the weapon of crime. I describe as much as I can any trace of blood, body fluid. I also do as best as I can to explain anything that seems odd or weird to me, like odors, lights, temperatures.

    As I look around, still careful to not alternate anything, I search for a location of where exactly did the death happen. It’s not that hard to figure it out; there is a lot of blood just in front of the couch. I kneel down and take a picture. I look around and see some line of blood.

    “Like someone dragged the bodies…”

    I stand up and take several pictures. Even if there were any evidence, they’re probably destroyed by the Supremacy. But those lines of blood clearly shows that the bodies were dragged. I start to follow the lines. When I reach the end of it, there is, even more, blood there. It’s like the couple has been drained from their blood.

   There is no way they could’ve lost this amount of blood, then somehow walk in front of the couch to die there and lose even more blood. It’s impossible. So it confirms what I thought.

    The Supremacy did kill the couple. As for the mobile, it’s easy. With the death of their son and the condolences of Clayton Marshall, the doubts from the Supremacy supporters were obvious. If the parents of the little boy stayed alive, the doubts and speculations were going to grow, and of course, it’s something Clayton Marshall cannot risk. Two fewer people to cause any drama.

    Everything that I’ve found there tonight will be in the next newspaper. If they want to kill everyone who doubts them, they will have a lot of work, as I will do my best to raise doubt more and more inside of their fan club.

[sadstoriesbook]

Chapter Six...

    Today the Supremacy Army was searching for the author of the newspaper. I never found time to name it; it was always called “Newspaper.” The name wasn’t important, the content was.

    So the Supremacy Army was after me. Of course, they did not know they were after me, but they are. Now, how much time do you think it will take Davin to cave in and give them my name, where I live and hide?

    In this chapter, I want to talk about the power of innocence. In everything that happens in life, somehow, someway, someday, children get caught in between. Whether it’s divorce or moving out for a job or politics, children always pay the prices.

    Growing up, I value more and more the power and beauty of innocence. Sure you ask questions, but you don’t get what’s happening and how much it will affect your future. Until one day, you will wake up and understand it all.

    Now I wish I could pinpoint the day, the exact moment where and when my innocence left me. Did I actually wake up one morning and it was gone? Or did it just slowly faded and I never realized it? How does innocence leave? Why does it leave?

    I think that losing our innocence is a choice. It’s up to you to take it back, to work on still having this innocent side. Looking at things innocently, for example. But I also think that our innocence does not leave because we chose it to go, society made it go away.

    When I see children, I smile at how curious they are about life. Looking around asking questions, without even knowing that when they have the answers to their questions, they will regret ever asking it. Without knowing that this is just a phase. I then get sad by thinking of their future. Especially those days.

    The Supremacy does not care about innocence; they use children women and men. You might ask yourself, what happens when you grow older? Once they realize you can’t help the Supremacy to get stronger than they already are, once they realize you gave them everything you had to give, and by everything, I mean everything, mentally and physically. Once they come to terms with the fact that you’re useless for them, they put a bullet in your head, drop your body some place they don’t need and move on to the next.

    Shocked yet?

    Let me tell you how innocence is being killed, how simplicity doesn’t mean anything to them.

    In the world we live in today, no one thinks about the future, no one thinks about the dreams we use to make, no reasonable and sane person think about adding members to the family.

    Sadly, it doesn’t please the Supremacy. If everyone stops to reproduce themselves, the future of the Supremacy will die with the last generation, and this, they can’t afford.

    I’m sure you know where I’m going with this. I’m going to be crude and tell the truth like it is.

   To assure the future of the Supremacy, its Soldiers will rape women. Of course, not all of them get pregnant, but sadly some of them do. Each house is on overwatch. Whenever a woman has any signs of pregnancy, they take her and lock her up until she has the baby.

    Are you still there? Okay good.

    Whenever a kid gets to the age of 12, they get any kind of medical tests to see if they’re healthy, but also to see if they will ever be able to have children.

    If the tests are good, the kid is good to go with a “Don’t forget, what you’re doing, is for the greater good.” They smile and head them out.

    But what happens when they find out that they can’t have children?

    For men, that’s easy, they would use them for physical work, construction, science, etc. But for women, it’s different.

    Since the beginning of time, women had to fight for their rights, the right to vote, the right to wear what we want.

    When the Supremacy took control, we took thousands of steps back.

    Women do not have the rights to vote; we have to wear the same clothes, and if you can’t have children, you get executed, in a public place. Nature made you a woman and a woman who can’t have kids. Even a witch would’ve had more respect.

    Now don’t get me started on the LGBTQ+ community. They always fought to have human rights, because let me remind you, they are humans, they’re not their sexual orientation.

    If they ever find out that you’re from the LGBTQ+ they would lock you up until you starve, torture you, rape you and then kill you on a public place.

    I remember when people from the old government used to complain. Did they ever know it was going to be way worse?

    Did you? Did you ever think that people, humans, could ever be able of this cruelty? At first, I couldn’t believe it. Not until they killed my mom in front of me because she was getting too old. Not until they made my dad pull the damn trigger. Not until they forced me to watch, telling me that this is what will happen to me if I get as useless as the whore that my mother is. Or was.

    Remember, innocence is just a phase. But in this world? It’s a legend.

[sadstoriesbook]

Chapter Five...

    Things needed to change. Enough innocent children were put in the middle of this stupidity. I knew I had to change my ways. I was always writing in the dark, hidden so no one could see me. But now I’m going to write in the light, in front of them without breaking any rules.

    Whether I read or write them, words are still my weapons.

    Law number one. “You shall not talk any bad about the new Supremacy.”

Newspaper - 2022-08-30

    The new Supremacy against the old government - which one is going to win?

    Since the new laws have been official, the former governor does everything they can to go back to the old nation they knew. Some people we met told us how much they prefer this new dictational nation to the anarchist country of before.

    Yesterday a house in the West Chicago burned down, in this tragic event, a mother and a father lost their son. We do hope that our new Supremacy will have something to say about this monstrous moment.

    Our respects and prayers go to the family.

¨

The next day that the paper came out, the Supremacy said their condolences to the family. It made a lot of noise. Everyone knew they were the one to set this house on fire.

    The nation side was mad at their hypocrisy. How could they give them their respects without even meaning it? The family does not deserve it. They do not deserve this false excuses; they need real ones.

    On the Supremacy side, they were mad that their leaders got down on their knees and apologized for something, and I quote, “Well deserved. They should’ve known before playing with fire. You always tend to get burned.”

    I never intended this article to make a lot of noise. I just wanted people to talk about; I wanted each side to have something to say against the Supremacy. They could not put everyone in prison for saying something bad about them. They could not put their people in jail; they’d signed the end of their power.

    Once all of the newspaper was gone, I decided to take a walk to a place I used to work and love to go.

    Chicago Tribune.

    This gray building with the USA flags and written in big white Tribune font letters. I remember when I used to come to work with my fresh coffee from the coffee store not far from it. I would get inside and always be mesmerized at the architecture of it. It was extensive and big, and it felt surreal. An entirely different world.

    All those people were hurrying to get their paper in time before the last call. I always dreamed of working at the Chicago Tribune and here I was, entering it, ready to start my new day.

    But here I am now, entering an empty and dead building. Papers everywhere, some of them has blood on it. But what is it compared to blood that these people have on their hands? It’s nothing.

    Every symbol, everything that used to give hope, has been destroyed by the Supremacy Army.

    Chicago, the birthplace of skyscrapers. Those beautiful buildings that reflect the sky, the sun. Whether it is sunny or raining, you always find a reflection that was worth an art gallery exposition.

    The Willis Tower. This skyscraper has been known as the Sears Tower. It wasn’t only a Chicago symbol; it also was the world’s tallest building. This masterpiece was designed by Bruce Graham and Fazlur Rahman Khan of Skidmore, Owings, and Merrill.

    It was an important symbol of Chicago’s architectural legacy when it was finished back in 1973. But now, it’s nothing. There’s no more golden reflection on it when the sun sets, the shadows adding dark borders making it look like a painting with clouds behind it.

    The Sears is now on the ground, broken glass everywhere; there are still corps in the rubbles, family waiting for them to come back, or to be finally able to know that their loved ones are in peace. But what’s peace when the Supremacy touched our symbols? What does peace mean anymore? Especially when they hit the symbol of Chicago’s resilience and ability to rebuild and heal from its wounds.

    I’m talking about the Chicago Water. It’s not the biggest skyscraper, I’ll give you that, but in the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, this tower survived it while some of the most prominent towers at this time didn’t. They touched a symbol of life moving on, about healing and forgiving.

    It’s no longer lighten up at night; no trees are surrounding it anymore. The Michigan Ave isn’t the same without it. Now it’s torn down; the facade isn’t white anymore, some of it is red by the blood of innocent people, some of it is black. But it’s no longer white and pure. It’s broken. It’s no longer a symbol of healing and resilience; it’s about how this Supremacy has control on our hope.

    And don’t forget that this is only some examples. Everything has been destroyed, children playgrounds, houses, hospital, etc…Nothing survived. Except this. Except for this book. Sad Stories survives it because I decided to fight and because words are my weapons.

    I will not let them win. I will not let Davin win.

    Even if I have to die trying, at least I’ll go with no regrets.

    Never give up your nation, never give up your values. Defend your symbols.

[sadstoriesbook]

Chapter Four...

    He was right. We would have to fight. We had to fight for our houses, for our family pictures, for our loved ones, for the people who couldn’t fight, fight for ourselves, fight for our freedom.

    I knew this was coming, but I never thought it was coming this soon, and this fast. Since yesterday, we’re at war.

    I remember when I was in school, learning every type of war. Especially world war one and world war two. The war meant to end all wars, a war that killed millions of people. A war that did not stop this third world war.

    Surprisingly, this is not the fact that we’re in a war that was scaring me down to my bones and deeper. It was the fact that I was somehow fighting against the man I love.

    “You have to understand, I don’t choose to do this, but I have no other choice.”

    “You were the one who told me that we all had a choice! Why do you do this? Why do you give up on us like this?”

    “They are threatening my sister!”

    “Your sister is not safe, whether you fight for them or against them. None of us are safe.”

   "I’m sorry…“

    Remember when I talked about Thirteen Reasons Why? How saying sorry can be meaningful and tore a heart apart? Well, now I do understand Clay and Hannah. I’m sorry too, Davin. But if you fight for them, it means I will have to fight against you.

    My weapons are my words, but words are useless in front of ignorant. Davin was right; we have to act on the opponent in front of us. And I know the opponent in front of me. I know him better than he knows himself.

    Today I’ve cleaned the whole place. I set my stories in order of dates, finished everything I had to do. There is only "Sad Stories” left.

    I’m afraid I won’t be able to talk about the books I read, as I don’t think I’ll be able to read again in a long time. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to read again. So here are some of my favorite books:

David Copperfield - Charles Dickens

The Notebook - Nicholas Sparks

The Lucky One - Nicholas Sparks

Before I fall - Lauren Olivier.

    Those were the books I wanted to talk about on Sad Stories. Please read them and cherish them as much as I do.

    I’ve been writing Sad Stories in secrets. We no longer have the right to write, read, or do any of this as it would stop us from working or fight for our side. So if somehow this book gets out and has only four chapters, please know that I never meant to stop it at four episodes. If it ever happens, know that someone made me do it.

    All days are pretty much the same, you see and hear terror on each street. But today, today was different. Most of the time I hear about what happened and write an article on it and call out for a revolution, on a fight back, call out to the nation to fight harder.

    But today I became more than a writer. Today I became an eyewitness.

    Like every Wednesday when my paper appears, I go out and distribute it to people walking. I was walking on 44 Shirley Ave.

    West Chicago. Everything was different from what it used to be. The West Chicago High School doesn’t look like a school anymore.

    The beautiful surrounding of the greener grass ever and a path of pebbles that leads to the door, the trees on each side of it making the front of the school look almost dreamy. And this big black door that makes it look like it’s a kingdom and not a high school.

    All of this is gone, the trees are on the ground, the grass is no longer here, the door is inside the school, broken by the Supremacy’s soldiers that got in.

    When I walk in the neighborhoods, I no longer see these amazing gray, black, white, brown houses. I no longer see the playground where children used to play with their best friends. I no longer see the welcoming porch, the flowers that were on it.

    All of this is gone. This one beautiful gray house has burned down today. But this is not the worse thing that happened when this house burned down.

    I mean, when a house burns down it’s still an awful event. You can only imagine when the couple that lived here moved in it. How much economies they’ve spent to be able to afford this house, how many dreams they had to give up to realize this one and how they got excited when they found out they were going to be parents.

    But in this world, you can only imagine how they felt when they found out that when their house burned down, their five years old son burned with the house. You can only imagine how the mother felt. Well, for my part, I did not have to imagine it. I heard it. I listened to the scream of the mother; I listened to the thousands no’s of the Father, I saw their faces when they’d been told that their whole life has burned down with that damn gray house.

    I was there when the mother called out for her son, pray for her son to come out of this house. I was there when they both died at the same time as their child.

    At this moment I realize that this war was doing more than destroying a high school, more than killing trees, more than burning down houses. Sure, I’m not stupid, I know people die in wars, but take a minute to think, do you truly, really, deeply, realize that mothers, daughters, sons, fathers, brothers, and sisters died? You acknowledge it, but you don’t realize. You can’t, not until you go through a war and hear the cry of a mother.

    Because trust me, the cry of a mother is louder and worse than an atomic bomb.

[sadstoriesbook]

Chapter Three...

   I’ve just finished the chapter two. And when I say finished, I mean I read it three times, corrected it, added some things, and reread it until I got sick of it. But I guess that’s the job. I’ve been writing for a long time, and this year I’ve decided to rewrite my stories. I mean it doesn’t do any harm to work some things from a new state of mind.

    What I’ve realized with my first work and my latest is that this is different. I don’t feel like it’s me who wrote it. The plot is good but not developed correctly, the characters evolution isn’t blatant. You can actually see that I did not put much time in the writing process and the mind map of the story wasn’t there at all. I lacked my stories, and I felt like I’ve disrespected my readers and the characters I’ve created. So I’ve decided to rewrite it all and to be honest, I see how much I have evolved as a writer.

    Each sentence needs particular attention; each chapter needs to be read at least fifty times, this is what makes a great book when you see that the author put everything they have in them to write this story, to share it.

    Earlier today I was talking to my friend, Laura, about books and I came up with a short sentence that made me smile. “A book is a mind treasure.” This phrase can have so many meanings, but for me, it has a special one. When we write a story, we create new people, new places, new life moments, everything is new, this is a whole new universe and this, for me, is what mind treasure means. Because even when you’re not the one writing the story, even when you’re on the other side, and you read the story, you go somewhere else when you read the book, you go where the author decided to take you. For me, this is what mind treasure means, and I find it beautiful and relaxing.

    It’s like when I’m having a stressful day; I look around me, look at the sky, mountains, I look at my surroundings and force myself to realize that, there is always bigger than whatever stresses me out, right now, there is always something bigger than me.

    Take the sky for example. When I look at the heavens, I think about all the stars, I reflect on all of the planets, and the solar system and how we spent years to understand it and how we still work to understand it better. I think about scientists working to see if we could live on another planet. Can you imagine living on another planet? This would be huge, and dangerous. And just thinking about this kind of things reminds me that everyone has, at some point in their life, been through this and found their way out.

    I believe that this chapter is no different than the others. I still don’t know what to write about. I just finished the book “Thirteen Reasons Why.” I’m not going to talk about this book; I already did in the previous chapter. And I don’t think I’m going to speak of any book as I didn’t have time to read one. So I think I’m going to tell you a little bit more about what is going on around us.

    We’ve been talking about what was “happening in our world.” I’ve spoken of a certain he, but this part is perhaps for another chapter.

    The authority, supremacy, leadership or whatever you call it, of our world isn’t like any other. Our timeline is very different from yours.

    You can call it an alternative universe, even if this is still the same planet. We’re ahead.

    When I told him I wanted to talk about it in this book he seems scared and worried.

    “You’re sure you don’t want to stick to the books you’ve read? I mean you can still help people and talk about a lot of things.”

    “Yes, of course, I could, but I don’t want to. This book is mine. And they won’t know I’m writing this book, and it’s not like I’m going against any laws.”

    “I hope so. Don’t become one of the sad stories you read.”

    This sentence shook me from head to toe. “Don’t become one of the sad stories you read…” he knows me well, if not better, and this phrase proves it.

    This phrase was scaring me. Do I want to become one of my sad stories? Am I one of my sad stories?

    Who am I?

    What am I?

    I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want to know. I know I will at some point, I won’t have any choices than to know who I am, to stand my grounds and to stand up for myself. I have to, especially with this principality going on.

    Things are the same as they used to be, but worse.

    People no longer lie, they deliberately took our rights and our freedom. They don’t lie that we’re free and then make laws that will hamper our freedom. This time they straightly say it.

    “In this supremacy, you’re not free. You create, you sell, you don’t win, you lose. You’re ours. We own you. You owe us.”

    It was always like this, but this time they don’t hide anymore. He says that we have to fight for our rights.

    “Listen to me, I know you’re the kind of person who prefers to find options than to use violence, but we have to act on the opponent in front of us. If we have to fight–”

    “A girl can control the world with words that pierce the bones. Words are my weapon. But I will fight. I will.”

    “Fine. I just wanted to make sure.”

    This is the prologue of my very own sad story.

[sadstoriesbook]

Chapter Two...

    Here I am, writing the second chapter on the same day. Call that productive or whatever; I call this therapy session on a rainy day that is slowly turning back into a hot summer day with a beautiful caress of middle-temperature wind.

    You can smell the beach in the wind, and if you lick your lips, you can almost taste the salt on them, hair flying all around my face, almost preventing me from seeing my computer screen. This morning the sky was full of clouds, there was this fresh air, and you could smell the rain, but now it’s like nothing happened, like it never rained, like thunder never screamed last night, like lightning never lighten up the sky.

    Rainy days always inspire me; there is this nostalgia, memories coming back. I always find rain soothing. So on this beautiful Sunday, I’ve started a new book, called “Thirteen Reasons Why” by Jay Asher.

    This heartbreaking story. I’m sure you’ve heard about it, probably from the Netflix series, but this book was there way before, it has been praised by everyone, Association of Booksellers for Children, American Library Association. It won a Heartland Award for Excellence in Young Adult Literature. Florida Teens Read Award, California Book Award, Kentucky Bluegrass Award, Barnes & Noble’s “top Ten Best for Teens.” Book Sense pick, international reading Association’s “ young adults choices” finalist. Borders Original Voices finalist. Chicago Public Library’s “Best of the Best Books,” Kansas State Reading Circle’s “Recommended Reading List,” New York Public Library’s “Book for the Teen Age.”

    16 state Award Master lists.

    “Thirteen Reasons Why is a mystery, eulogy, and ceremony. Twenty or thirty times, I snapped the book shut when a sentence, an image, or a line of dialogue was too beautiful and painful.–”

    I relate a lot to this first part of praise. There are so many lines, thoughts from the protagonists that break my heart. Especially this sentence. “And yes, Clay–I’m sorry, too.” If you read the book, you know why this sentence is strong, powerful and full of emotions and is so meaningful.

    “–But I, afraid and curious, would always return to this amazing book. I know, in years to come, I will often return to this book.” - Sherman Alexie, author of “The Absolutely True. Diary of a Part-Time Indian.

    I would close the book because a sentence hurt me, or because I related too much to the current situation but find myself opening the book two minutes after because I needed to see how the characters reacted, would they act the same way as I did when I was in this situation? To be honest, and don’t get me wrong, I love this book, I do not agree with some choices that some of the characters made, but that’s what makes this book so realistic, you don’t agree with everyone’s choices, it’s not yours to make.

    ”Every once in a while you come across a book that you can’t get out of your mind, one you have to rush back to if you must put it down for some reason. Jay Asher’s Thirteen Reasons Why is one of those books, and is at the very top of my personal Must-Read List.“ -Ellen Hopkins, bestselling author of Tricks, Identical, Crank, Burned, Impulse, and Glass.

     Even after ten years, this book still has this strong impact on the ones who read it. And even to the ones who didn’t but still heard from it by their friend or online. This book created, opened a conversation that needed to be.

    ”Very clever premise, strong voice, perfect suspense. This one will keep you reading. Jay Asher is a fine storyteller.“ - Chris Crutcher, author of Staying Fat for Sarah Byrnes, Whale Talk, and Deadline.

    While reading the book, I sometimes had to remind myself that the author who wrote this book somehow found a way to put himself in the skin of a teenage girl who’s turning into a young woman and has to go through the looks and expectations of everyone. He did it, and some of you might think "well he’s an author,” I’m sorry but many failed at this. When you read this book, you tend to forget that it’s not a young woman who’s writing this book, who’s telling her story, it’s an amazing and talented man.

    “A spectacular first novel. Jay Asher tells his story with such honesty and simplicity that the tragedy feels shatteringly real.” -Gordon Korman, author of Son of the Mob and Jake, Reinvented.

    “the tragedy feels shatteringly real.” Well if I’m going to be entirely frank with you, Gordon Korman, these things do happen in real life! There might not be someone who does thirteen cassettes to tell their story, but it does happen. Some people can push others to kill themselves.

   In this chapter, I might hurt some people and perhaps get some haters.

    I’ve been bullied and on the verge of killing myself. People are mean enough to push others to kill themselves because they are different, not like them. Some people will beat, and some people will use words.

    For my part, the worse was the words that were said. Bruises, I mean physical injuries heal, but words stay, words remain. You can cover scars with tattoos or even jewelry, but you can’t cover internal and mental scars, it’s just not possible.

    I don’t really know where to go with this chapter. I just don’t. I’m mad whenever I think about those who hurt me but even more to those who saw and did nothing to help.

    There is this quote “It only takes a little push to pull on through” - All-Time Low, “Missing You.”

    I remember when I read online the negative comments. How the book tells too much or even the series shows too much, I got mad, and he asked me what was going on.

    “Just some stupid people that are afraid of life.” I spat, anger dripping in every word I say.

    “If you care about everything that everyone says, you’re screwed you know that?” He answers.

    I shut my computer and look at him.

    “Those people are similar to the ones who hurt me. They caution this behavior. ” I said. I didn’t understand why he was telling me this. He knew my story.

    “I know. What I meant was, you cannot leave one single negative comment to hide two positive ones.” He adds.

    “There is way more than one negative comment. That’s the problem. They refuse to see the truth! Thirteen Reasons Why shows this truth, and they don’t like it. Words hurt, actions have consequences. People decide to hate the truth because they know that they have things to be guilty of doing or saying! They criticize the victims, I mean, yeah sure it’s easier. But the fact is the less famous version of it all, the less attractive. You can’t gossip about the truth. ‘Oh well, they killed themselves because they are weak.’ They killed themselves because they were strong for too long. And when they’re dead, they cry, they don’t cry because they’re sad they are gone, no, because they’re gone because of them. They cry because they realized what they just did. They killed someone; there’s blood on their hands.

    But then what’s following could almost be mesmerizing. They can’t blame themselves, I mean, this won’t be fair, so they blame the victim, say that it was just attention seeking, they keep on putting down the victim, they soil the memory of the victim. What they don’t even realize is that by killing them, they’re killing their family, too. This book and the show prove that, and it tells the truth, and they don’t like it because people don’t like the truth.”

    Once again he didn’t answer, he knew better. And he knew I was right. Jay Asher did a fabulous work on this book, and as a bully survivor, I thank him for writing this book, and I thank Netflix for creating this show.

    Truth needs to be said. And for my part, when I will have children, I will tell them about the book and the show, I won’t force them to read it or watch it, but they will definitely know about it.

    The best way to stop bullying and hatred is to educate the ones that will soon rule the world, the next generation. Everything starts with them; things can only change with them.

     Values are something important, something that some people lack, some people are degrading, some people don’t even care about it. Sure it’s easier to be bad than good; you have to fight to be good, you have to fight to keep up with your own expectations. It’s always easier to take the wrong road, but always harder to stay on the good one, you have to look for indications, ask for help when you’re lost. It’s a constant fight, but in the end, it’s worth it because when you arrive at the end of the road, you remember the ones who helped you, the ones who let you down, and the landscapes you saw.

    Everything matters, everything has consequences, everything has an impact, minimal or not, it does matter, so make the most of it.

    Don’t wait the next day to say you’re sorry; there might not be a next day. Don’t wait until it’s too late.

    As I love to say, don’t live with regrets and do not leave with regrets.

[sadstoriesbook]

Chapter One...

    As I said, our story wouldn’t make a good book. So I don’t know why I’m writing one. Maybe I want this book to remain after we’re back to dust, perhaps I want people to remember us when we lost our mind. I don’t really know why I’m writing this book about us. Not only will I talk about us but about the books we read. Who would read this?

    Not me.

    But I’m doing it anyway, in a challenge. Maybe we will be the only one to read this book, perhaps I will never even finish it, and it’ll end up like it started, as an excerpt I might never write. But I want to give this book a chance; I want to give our story a chance. Maybe our memories, the memories I will share with you, will make your heart sink like most of my favorite books did.

    I don’t know how to start this chapter, well technically I already did, but what am I supposed to do now? I mean the intro is written I’m basically just babbling like a baby. It feels like I have nothing to say, or write, while I have so many things to write about. So how am I supposed to keep going once the intro is done? Not that any of you could help me, I’m not even sure there is any of you right now.

    Well, I think if I want to talk about something I care about in this chapter it will be about a book I read two days ago or maybe three, not that any of it matters, I’m not even one hundred percent sure you’re reading this. So I will write this book like I’m talking to myself.

    One week ago my mother told me that when we moved out, six years ago, the movers stole some of our boxes. Now let me explain to you why exactly my mom tells me this only six years after. Two of these boxes had my books in it. My mother, knowing her daughter, was afraid to tell me that my babies were gone and for forever, that the money I saved for years to buy these books (for more useless details, there was at least 100 books, two full boxes of them protected in sheets.) were also gone. I wasn’t mad at her, I mean it’s not her fault. Like I said to my friend, Laura, I hope that these books will bring as much joy to the ones that stole them as they brought me. But she also brought me back to earth and told me that they might not even like them, that was also an option, did not like this one, but it was.

    So now, here I am, buying all of my books, well the ones I can remember the names. And some new books, too. I’m on Amazon, looking out for some sad books because as I said, I prefer thick books, way closer to reality for me. I bought half of it and my mother the other half, which she didn’t have to do, but she did, and it’s kind of her.

The books are:

“Before I Fall” by Lauren Olivier

“Everything, Everything” By Nicola Yoon

“The Lucky One” by Nicholas Sparks

“Thirteen Reasons Why” by Jay Asher

“The Notebook” by Nicholas Sparks

“If I stay” by Gayle Forman

“Dear John” by Nicholas Sparks

“Charlie St. Cloud: A Novel” by Ben Sherwood

“The Neverending Story” by Michael Ende

“Skinny: She was starving to fit in” by Laura L. Smith

“The Christmas Shoes” by Donna VanLiere

“Nobody’s Son: All Alex ever wanted was a family of his own” by Cathy Glass

“Don’t Die, My Love” by Lurlene McDaniel

“Where She Went (Sequel to "If I stay”)“ by Gayle Forman

"I Was Here” by Gayle Forman

“Ask the Passengers” by A.S King.

    The first book to arrive was If I stay, to my luck, I was so happy.

    What you also need to know about me, but I guess you figured that out? I like to write. I wouldn’t call myself a writer. Stephen King is a writer, Ernest Hemingway, Mark Twain, Gayle Forman, etc…Those are writers, marvelous authors.

    But I do write some sort of fiction/fan fiction, so Sad Stories is a lot out of my comfort zone. Where I want to go by this is, when I received If I Stay I dropped everything I was doing and needed to do and read the damn book, in a day and a half it was read. I cried and laughed and cursed.

    When I was reading this book, I felt like I was living this (sad) adventure with Mia (the protagonist of the book). I won’t tell you too much about this book, all I can say is, if you’re like me, you definitely should read this book. There is also a fantastic movie based on it. But to be honest, I prefer the book; you can get more into the head of the characters, you can know more details and get into the story as much as you would like to. I bonded with those characters, each one of them, got close to them, learned to love and hate them. I cried and laughed with them. When I finished the book, I felt like I was losing someone I loved.

     This book took me away. It’s heart wrecking, breathtaking. I loved this book, to be honest with you, it was not the first time I read it, maybe the fifth or sixth. But each time I cry as much if not harder. This is what I find magical in Gayle Forman’s writing. She’s an amazing writer, and I love her.

    I feel like I’m getting out of the topic of Sad Stories, but also remember that this book will be about him and me, so how can you get to know us if you don’t know the books that drive us crazy and break our hearts? Especially if those books are a part of us, they are like a third lung.

    This book brought memories back, though. Bad memories, memories of when I lost my sisters and almost lost my mother. This book, well at least the first is about fighting for surviving, about finding the reasons why life is worth living when you lost some if not, all of them. And as for the second one, it’s about the aftermath of the loss of a loved ones.

    This is why I relate so much to sad books because my life is a sad story and these books feel like they understand me, they know me and what I’ve been through. They saved me, in so many ways, and unlike my books, I hope I will have a happy ending, but I can only figure that out if I live my own storyline and create the plot of my life.

[sadstoriesbook]

Prologue...

    « What was the last book that made you cry? » He asks.

    « If I stay by Gayle Forman. » I answer.

    « And the last book that made you laugh? » He asks once again.

    I look at him dumbfounded. I don’t read funny books. I never realized this, to be totally honest with you. But now that he asked me I realized that I never read funny books, only sad ones.

    « Wait, you’re telling me you only read sad books? Why? »

    « I don’t know. I never found interest in funny books. I guess if I wanted to laugh I would just watch Friends on Netflix. When I read, I want to be close to reality, to real life. » I reply, with a little sarcasm but still being honest.

    I don’t know why I’m frank with him, though. But when he talks, it just comes out so quickly, too easily.

    « How come? There are not only sad moments in life. » He adds.

    « Well I guess you could say that my life was pretty much sad, so I kind of relate to those books. »

    « Well I read comic books, and they are still close to life - our life at least. » He says.

    « You do read comic books but whether it’s a Marvel or DC none of them are just funny. I read comic books, black canary, Batman, Daredevil, Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, Superman, super girl, arrow, flash and much more. Sure there are some comic moments but what are they next to the moments when those heroes put on those costume to save people dying, children scared, what are those moments next to the ones when those heroes have to sacrifice their lives to save innocent’s lives. When you finish reading comic books, the only thing you remember at the end is what they lost to save people, what they gave up. The only thing that remains is the memories of when they used to smile actually and not just fake one for the cover. »

    He didn’t answer me. He bowed his head and smirked. That same grin that made my heart stutter.

    Our lives were a sad story, but I’m not sure they would make a good sad book. They just wouldn’t. And I don’t mind.

[sadstoriesbook]

Presentation...

     Sad Stories was written during Summer 2017 in the South of France, Marseille. At first, Sad Stories was just “an excerpt I might never write.” Then each time I had an idea for it, I’d wrote it down, an idea became a phrase, a phrase became a paragraph, and then the section became a chapter.

    I never thought I’d get through it, for me it was just going to be a story that I will write about the books I loved, then the more I wrote it, the more I wanted it to be about more than the books I adore.

    So decided to do the mind map of it. Once it was done, I started the real work. Each idea was written down when all of them were; I placed in them the different chapters, I’d spend a week on each chapter to write them, read them, correct them and do it all over again.

    The more the chapters were going, the more ideas I had. Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher inspired me to do like him, a second ending and bonuses. It adds to the principal content, and it’s always a good gift to your readers.

    Sad Stories is really different for me. I got out of my comfort zone each chapter, pushed myself to go further. There is no cuss or any of this, but there is a description of violence, and it’s something I never did before.

    I don’t know how many of you will read this, I know at least one will, and I have to thank her for this, but this will be in the thanks section.

    I sincerely hope you will like this short book; I sincerely hope you will get the message I wanted to pass on this book.

    Always fight for yourself, fight for what you believe and fight for the ones who can’t. Don’t let society destroy you, and please, don’t forget our symbols. Even if the story takes place in Chicago, IL., USA, it’s meant for the whole world. Don’t let society degrade our, your symbols.