A Home For Lonely Souls Novels & Stories

Philip, a long-haul truck driver, was often away from home, leaving me feeling lonely and unfulfilled. It might sound improper, but I couldn't help it. There was a craving inside me that longed to be satisfied, and it had only intensified over time. The way men looked at me when I was out in public made me feel a mix of embarrassment and exhilaration, adding fuel to my restless thoughts. My daily life was simple. After my parents passed away, they left me a three-story house, and I earned enough from renting it out to live comfortably without needing a job. But with so much free time, my thoughts often wandered, and that longing became impossible to ignore.

I was left here in this cold, heartless place. The tears started again, hot and fast, and for a wild, desperate second, I reached for my phone to call him – to scream, to beg, to ask to take me away from this den of wolves. But the pride – stopped me. He had chosen to abandon me, forced me to stay here and that betrayal was a wound that refused to heal, festering under the weight of my loneliness. This was so unfair. I was lost in the storm of my own weeping when a sharp, rhythmic knock at the door shattered the silence.

I thought, "Dear God, if you're still willing to listen even if I have no white ribbon to make my wish, but on the account that I'd prayed to you and lit up the candle so sincerely many times in the past, please grant this final wish of mine. "I wish that I, Winter Brooke, will no longer have anything to do with him, Finnegan Churchill, for the rest of our lives, or even the next life if there is one."

How ridiculous! They had ruined me altogether, leaving me with only a battered life that was slowly slipping away. I curled into myself, trying to keep warm. Tears fell silently onto my body. I didn't know where I was. And even if I did, I had no means of moving. All I could do was wait for death to claim me. As the end neared, images from my past flashed through my mind. But I wasn't ready to die yet. Not like this, at least!

“Your father-in-law is home, so? “He’s busy with his own business. He won’t have time for you! “Besides, aren’t you desperate for it right now? Your husband isn’t home, so let me give you a hand. “Be a good girl. I’m really good at this. Once we’re done, your illness will be cured!” I slumped limply on the sofa, utterly devoid of the strength to resist. Under the influence of the drugs, facing Cowell’s wicked hands, I even found myself yearning for it deep down.

** By the third day of living there, I finally started to feel like this place was no longer just somewhere I was temporarily staying, but somewhere that could actually be called home. Home. The word itself felt strangely unfamiliar to me now. For the longest time, I thought home meant a husband, children, a complete family—the kind of picture people frame and place on top of fireplaces. I used to hate being alone so much that silence itself felt unbearable. But now I was beginning to understand something I had resisted for years: people are lonely by nature. No matter how deeply you love someone, there are still parts of life only you can walk through yourself. And somehow, with each passin

The petals trembled gently, like a wave goodbye. Mom stared at the flowers. Tears fell again. But she smiled. "Lily," she whispered. "Is that you?" No one answered. The wind passed through, and the petals swayed once more. Then everything grew still. I looked down and saw my body beginning to fade, bit by bit, like mist evaporating in sunlight. I was finally leaving. I looked at them one last time. At the moment I disappeared completely, I heard Noah speak. "Mom, was Lily just here?"

Aurora Point of View "Perhaps you don't know why you feel like this, or you've always been like this. Chasing the notion of a home, not knowing where it's supposed to be, you think you're supposed to find it in yourself, but you feel a mess. The loneliness is everywhere, even in the midst of people as they blur into one. It's a sadness that always return. A familiar grief that has made a home in your ribcage. You are lonely, torn between who you are, and who you want to be -- you want to be a Wanderer, want to fleet and drift, but you want to be loved, you want to have a home. You don't know how these two can work together."

"He’s a mess, and he smells like a grave, but he’s alive. That’s more than most people get in this valley." "He doesn't have a soul, Runa," I choked out, the tears finally breaking through. "The Council... they didn't just break him. They emptied him." "Then we'll fill him back up," Sola said, her voice unusually firm. She reached into her pouch and pulled out a small, dried flower—a lavender sprig from the Deep Woods. "Our people have stories of the Hollowed. They say the soul doesn't leave; it just hides in the deepest shadows where the pain can’t reach it. We just have to go in and find it."

I look around at the voidless darkness that is filled with the hot fires of hell. It is quiet but if you pay attention you will almost be able to here the screams and cries of agony. This is home. Home is a desert that look like nothing to the eye but it is all a glamour, when the council of heaven take their place in their home... No damned, tortured or demon will be heard.