Votefor Stories

Um basically his life is extremely depressing and yeah

The life of a Polynesian is a tapestry woven with the rhythm of the sea, the call of family, and the heartbeat of tradition. It is the feeling of walking barefoot on warm sand, with stories of ancestors whispered through the wind. It's the resilience of maintaining cultural roots while adapting to the ever-changing tides of modernity. Though the islands are small, their spirit feels boundless-tied to the skies and the ocean that cradle them. It's a life marked by community, where the success of one uplifts all, and where the preservation of language, song, and dance becomes both legacy and resistance.

Darkness was about to engulf his mind. The chasm of inky depths were pulling him down into the hell fire. He sure was going into hell. There wasn't place of heaven in his life. He rather happy being the lord and manor of hell He hadn't done any good or anything closer to it. He had a fight club. His very own cage stage. Men blood thirsty and money hungry mongrels fought till death in it and he got the ultimate profit through the winning of the fighters. Thd name of it was apt. Hellrise. A place filled with every kind of leechy fox soughting for some adrenaline and enjoyment at every nook and corner of his place. It wasput n't illegal. He had the honest rights.

Two zombie stories of mine.

Okay, let's shift gears and make it a revenge story. Here are the first three paragraphs: The city, a concrete jungle teeming with secrets, held its breath as the clock ticked towards midnight. In the heart of its shadows, a figure emerged, cloaked in the darkness, their eyes burning with a cold, calculated fire. This was not a hero, nor a villain, but a force of nature, fueled by the bitter taste of betrayal and a thirst for retribution. Their name, once whispered with affection, was now a weapon, a promise of the storm to come. Years had passed since the events that had shattered their world, leaving behind a trail of broken promises and stolen dreams. The scars, both visible and unseen, served as a constant reminder of the injustice they had endured. Now, armed with a plan meticulously crafted in the depths of their solitude, they stepped back into the world, ready to collect the debts owed. Every step was a calculated move, every encounter a test of their resolve. The city's underbelly, a network of shadows and whispers, became their playground. They moved through the labyrinthine streets like a phantom, gathering information, manipulating events, and dismantling the lives of those who had wronged them. Their methods were as ruthless as the pain they carried, their actions driven by a singular, unwavering purpose: to make those who had caused their suffering pay the ultimate price.