A Little Life Book 소설 & 이야기

She sat in the corner of her cell all day without sleep, murmuring to herself over and over that it was all her fault. "Zachary, I'm sorry… If there's a next life, I promise I'll make it up to you." Without thinking, I immediately responded, "That won't be necessary, Mom. I don't want to be your son in the next life." As if she could suddenly see me, Mom turned toward me and exclaimed, "Zachary, you came to visit me! I knew you couldn't bear to leave me." I was startled, but I tried speaking to her again.

Lila pressed her face to the glass, giggling at the display of books and paper cranes hanging from fishing line like tiny messengers of hope. “You okay?” Jack asked softly. Elena nodded, though her heart beat like a drum in her chest. “Yeah. I just... I still remember when I couldn’t even say the word ‘survivor’ out loud.” “You don’t have to say it,” Jack said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re living it.” Inside, a small crowd had already begun to gather. Chairs had been set up in neat rows, and a table at the front was stacked with copies of her book. There was a pitcher of lemon water, a tray of cookies, and a nervous-looking bookseller smoothing out the event sign.

Not since the night he couldn't sleep. He opened it hesitantly. Flipped it open. And read a passage he'd marked unintentionally: *"Some people come into your life like a breeze. Others, a storm. And some, without a word, build a house in your silence."* Julian closed the book. He had no clue what Lena Carter was doing to him. But whatever it was… It wasn't over.

Some wounds take longer to find than they do to feel. But I never stopped checking my phone for his name. My apartment was small, quiet, and cluttered with secondhand furniture. A chipped table. A bookshelf that leaned slightly to the left. A couch too soft for its own good. It was nothing like the sleek city life I’d once dreamed of. And it was perfect. I got a job at a little bookstore down the street. The kind of place that still used paper receipts and smelled like old wood and dust jackets. It was owned by a woman named Lila—tough as nails and twice as sharp.

Luna's Pov I wake up every day dreading that I'm still breathing. A few times a day I find myself thinking"How am I still alive"? This a question I never find the answer to but maybe because... I'm a useless fool... A coward... A slut... A bitch... A dumb whore... At least that's what he tells me. As an eighteen-year-old girl, I am extremely underdeveloped physically and mentally. I can tell from looking at other girls in my neighborhood they all looked healthy while I was a bag of bones.

Personally, I want to see what's in that book. I'd spent yet another evening thinking about her. She's the first thing in life that had taken my focus off the endgame, which is not exactly a good thing. I didn't make provisos for being sidetracked because until one day ago, I didn't think there was anything that could sway me from my path. But something about her situation keeps pulling at me, and I know I won't rest until I get to the bottom of this shit.

With a gesture she invites me to sit down and I do it again when I put the chair back in its place. “It's normal the exaltation you just had. But I want to explain something to you, can I,” she asks a little cautiously and I nod, “perfect. Allie, you won't always have the power to decide what will happen to you, sometimes life can be cruel and decide for you but what you do decide is how to face the situation” I look at my hands in my lap with my eyes fixed on my feet, while I play with a small thread hanging from my blouse.

To stay away from everyone, to keep them all in the dark about how fucked up my life is right now. I look at my bookshelf and smile when I find my favorite childhood book. Little prince. I grab it and cuddle up on my bed with the book. I pull the blanket up to my waist and open the book on the first page. I can’t remember the last time I read this book, but I know it will bring me back to memories from when I was a kid because I remember reading it to Layla.

Did he sense something. Did he notice that I wasn't really reading the book? I thought, looking at the book in my hands (My Life Saver by Lilian Finn). What a weird coincidental name for a book. Twenty minutes past eleven p.m. When did time fly so fast? I survived today, tomorrow is going to be another day. "Let's get ready for it." I said, resting my head on my pillow and hugging the book, My Life Saver. ***Day eleven***

The book is called The First Life: What the Practice Earned and What the Practice Cost. She sends it to Clara first. Not Cristina — Cristina is at the coast, seventy-six, making ceramics with the precision of someone who has been at it for eleven years and has found the bowl she was always building toward. She sends it to Clara because Clara is the person who asked for it. Clara is the person who will read it first. Clara reads it over four days. Calls on the fifth morning. "The first movement," Clara says. "Yes," Valentina says. "You described her exactly. The woman who was not unhappy. The specific texture of a life that was adequate and knew it was adequate and had no language for wanting