24 Hours Novel Novels & Stories

Author's POV CLANK CLANK CLANK ... The noise of pots and pans falling made my spirit jump. I was feeling so sleepy after finishing the thirteenth chapter just a few hours ago. My brains refused to think further. It had been three days that I have continuously worked on my novel everytime. I would finish all the house work. Still yawning and stretching my arm, I opened the door to check what the commotion was about. Spat! An egg suddenly hit me on my forhead.

With the start of the novel, her fingers moved in a flow, the words went in a flow, she spent her day and night in front of the laptop, 3 weeks later, her book was done, she wiped her tears as she stared at her completed manuscript. “Whoa!” Tasha yelled from behind, “What the hell have you been doing?” She blinked at the condition of the room, there were stacks of cup noodles at the side, there were tissues scattered on the floor, her best friend looked like a zombie with the dark bags under her eyes.

I was nailing this. An hour passed. I hadn't been spoken to, looked at, or even acknowledged. It was glorious. I checked the time. 21:30. In the novel, the champagne incident happened around 22:00. I was in the home stretch. I could practically taste my own survival. I saw a side exit, clear and unguarded. My ticket out of here. I started moving, keeping low, my eyes fixed on the door. Ten feet. Five feet. Three feet. Freedom was so close I could feel it.

I said. The burner buzzed again new message. TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. I locked eyes with Adrian. “Good,” I said. “I only need twelve.” He almost smiled.

Skippy my new bodyguard announces. I shudder at the sight of him as he escorts Cierra away. For some reason, i don’t feel so sleepy so i read a bit for my last exam and once that gets boring, i move to the balcony with a romance novel. “So beautiful,!” I mutter, wondering why i haven’t spent time here. The book starts to get more interesting that I end up grabbing a snap to munch on while I read. “Shit it’s almost 12am,” I gasp looking at my clock.

It was rumored that it was the place where true mates during ancient times would travel to together. As for my wolf, I knew she hadn't disappeared or been sealed away. She was just temporarily in a deep sleep. I continued to study and do experiments, and my days were mundane and uneventful. However, occasionally during experiments, I would feel a sudden pain in my chest. Tears would slide down my cheeks and drip off my chin. I shook my head briskly and continued working. Since I had forgotten it all, it didn't matter. … 21 days later, my phone suddenly began vibrating wildly.

Two years back, when Shirley came home from abroad, she gave a Patek Philippe watch to Matthew. Matthew was over the moon, wearing it all the time, even to bed, unless he had to take it off for something big like surgery. However, I just could not figure out who this well-off, polished man was. He caught on to my puzzled look, but instead of getting upset, he just smiled. "I'm Edwin." I froze. Edwin Gordon? How could that be? I remembered Edwin always had those super thick glasses, like the bottom of a beer bottle. He was the kid who did not have much, always eating just bread with margarine, skinny as a stick.

I must say, there was a novel that was quite enjoyable to read. She watched for more than three hours, but didn't finish. Instead, she started to feel a bit tired, so she lay down and slept for a while. When I woke up again, the announcement on the plane reminded that the plane would land in twenty minutes. Charlotte rubbed her face and picked up her phone to continue reading the unfinished novel. Half an hour later, the plane landed in Yaraiso. At this time, it was exactly midnight in the domestic time. There weren't many people at the airport, and the two of them took a taxi to check in at the hotel.

That thought was quickly tossed aside because if that was the case, the noises I made by kicking in a window aloud with my own cries and outburst from dressing my wounds would undoubtedly have been heard. Curled up between the two chairs with my face barely sticking out of my sleeping bag, my eyelids feel weighted with exhaustion and the comfort of finally being warm. The small LED lantern is in the dimmest mode, sitting on the table beside me casting a soft warm light. I usually sleep best in pitch black darkness, but am not brave or crazy enough to sleep without a light turned on while I'm inside this abandoned building at night. The last thing I remember doing before passing out for the n

It was according to the book, if I haven't forgotten. "What time is it?" I asked. "You're asking strange things again, My lady," she answered. I slapped my forehead for being stupid. That's right. There is no clock in this novel. Time wasn't introduced and wasn't created. I don't know why, maybe the author forgot? Most of historical novels have time, actually. But here, nothing. I don't even know what sign they have on whether it's morning, noon, afternoon, or night. At least morning until evening are part of their vocabulary.