36 Days Book Novels & Stories

Rose bragged tapping my shoulders firmly. "But I wasn't going to lecture you, I know you will do everything to make yourself proud, not even for your mom but for yourself" I added. Rose smiled as she lowered her eyes, swallowing hard, "We have seventy days left" she whispered. "Hmmmm, days are running so fast, tell me is there anything you want from me?" I asked, searching her eyes. "Anything?" Rose asked, biting her lips. "Anything at all, your wish is my command, you know that right?" I added, tucking her hair behind her ears.

-------------------- Upstairs, Emily sat on the bare floor, allowing the warm water spraying from the shower hit her body, still scared and in disbelief of what has happened over the past 24 hours. She stood up with almost the last strength she had left, walked to the room, threw a robe and that was when she decided, whatever this is? she’s not giving up, she won’t be cajunned to stay here. She opened the door, this time it wasn’t locked. Maybe Lothaire had thought she wouldn’t try to escape, well he must be an actual joke. “ I’ll keep trying to escape for 365 days” He doesn’t know me yet. He’s in for a long ride

Some of the books are written in languages I’ve never even seen before, and others are so old that I’m too afraid to touch them. I’m used to my own company, so I don’t mind the countless hours by myself, but the perpetual darkness is wearing me down. By the end of the sixth day, I’m ready to crawl out of my skin, and I miss Kane more and more every day. “Good morning, little miss,” Glenn says and puts the heavy drum of water next to the wash table.

Its title is The Portion. "This is a beginner's book. This beautiful organization is filled with knowledge, peace, and power but has rules. Many of us shared the same heart when we first entered those doors. And most of us have been vindicated, but we were steadfast and loyal to the cause." It would be best if you were done reading it within a week. So after you've read it, return to a meeting, and then we'll go from there." I agree, thank her, and then head home.

"The fourth book is available only to the reader who has been inside a long accumulation long enough that the ordinary day is the deepest thing they know." Ernest looked at him. "The ordinary day is the deepest thing." "Yes," Don said. "The deepest thing available to the person inside the accumulation. Not the significant events — the naming, the trips, the books. The ordinary day. The Wednesday with thirty years of Wednesdays in it. That is the deepest thing." He held Ernest's gaze. "The fourth book argues that the ordinary day is the deepest thing. The sequence of four books has been approaching this argument from the beginning. The first book is about where we are. The second is about wha

I made deals. Day 42. The number I’d scratched into the back of an old bus transfer. Forty-two days since the last time I let anything but coffee set my hands on fire. Forty-two days since I saw a man tear out of his skin like he was tired of being smaller than what was underneath.

One per day. Jess wasn't as resilient as Molly; she screamed and struggled, clinging to Ray and biting his arm. Had it not been for the hundreds of enhancements to his skin, making it tougher than cowhide, she might have drawn blood. One night passed. The apocalypse had now entered its 64th day.

“For 363 days.” He searched my face, then let go like I’d burned him. He didn’t touch me again for the rest of the drive. That night, I found a book on my nightstand. The Art of War. No note. I opened it. On the first page, in black ink, sharp and precise: Rule six: Enemies are everywhere. Trust no one. Not even me. I closed the book and looked at the camera in the corner. Red light, blinking. Always blinking.

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The weather has matched his mood perfectly for twenty-three days now. Twenty-three days. Twenty-three days since Flora's demise. Twenty-three days of this purgatory, watching her breathe but not live. "I brought you a good book you are gonna like," Lucas says, reaching into his messenger bag. He pulls out a dog-eared copy of *Pride and Prejudice*, its spine cracked from frequent reading. "I thought I might read to you again today. The nurses say that's good—that you might be able to hear me." He opens to where the bookmark indicates his progress and clears his throat.