Adult Book Boxes Novels & Stories

A Dream House (Continuation) I sat on the beige colored tiled floor of the living room. And I looked around me, the ceilings are neatly painted white, while the walls are covered with medium toned brown wallpapers. I opened another box. From the box I pulled out lots of books, maybe fifty to seventy of them. The books come in different forms, big and small, thin and thick. Our book collection includes about twenty five of Mallory’s bedtime story books, a New King James bible version, a children’s bible, and there is one of my favorite books; Ikigai: The Japanese Secret to a Long and Happy Life, also my favorite novels from Mitch Albom; Tuesday with Morrie and Five People You Meet in Heave

“Okay, I will have a look before heading to the dorm. See you, bye,” Savannah headed. It was noon, and most of the students were busy; she ran upstairs, as mentioned by Miss Elena. She looked around, her finger pad touching the spine of these old archives, and appreciated this beauty, and there her eyes landed on a glass box carrying an ancient book surrounded by some weird weapons and scaffoldings. She was about to look into it when someone snapped at her. “What are you doing here?” “Um. I am looking for some books,” “What books? None of the books here belong to freshman students; these are special books.” The older adult said.

“Chocolates, all your favorites.” He passed me another box. “This is a subscription.” I took the box and opened it. “Book club?” Alex nodded. “I know how much you love to read so every month you’ll get your favorite book at your doorstep. No matter how old or how unique, you’ll get it.” I stared at his beautiful face. “That’s so considerate.” “Yes now all I need is a mug that says ‘Best boyfriend ever.’” “I already gave you a mouse pad that says that. Don’t get too cocky now.”

With a firm tug, the board lifts, revealing a dark recess beneath. I gasp. Carton boxes, envelopes, and a sacred-looking box are nestled in the hidden space. The boxes are worn and slightly dusty, as though they’ve been there for years, untouched by time or prying eyes. “What’s all this?” I whisper, the words barely audible as I pull one of the boxes out, placing it carefully on the floor above. The sacred box catches my attention immediately. It’s carved with intricate patterns that almost seem to shimmer, its wood weathered but sturdy. It looks ancient, like something out of a forgotten history. My hands hover over it, hesitant but compelled.

The family King James, The Book of Mormon, Long Lost Friend, also got The Traveler’s Gate and The Witch Book of Throop. Anyhow I love books, so when I saw that box in the recycling dumpster at the landfill I couldn’t resist. I dumped my load to the side, leaned in, snagged the box’s flap, and dragged it out. Didn’t take time to look through em right then, just pretended I wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary. I needn’t have worried cause there wasn’t no one around so early anyway. I got into my truck and headed to The Skylark for my usual Saturday morning pancakes.

If you take the time to open the box before you chuck it into the bin, you should have an idea of my intentions this morning before I caught you in bed with someone I thought was a friend. Before I get the courage to open the box, a million thoughts are racing through my head. What is in this box? It must be something very important to him; he left it here for me to see. Is this what my life has come to, a box and three broken hearts? The box is black; it is the kind of box you buy in gift stores, the ones that are already made, the ‘pop a present in’ sorts. I take the lid off; there is another box, a box in a box, this one a fragment smaller, this one a deep red, a perfect color between bla

What a day, I said the Aurelia, then I noticed something that hadn’t been there earlier. On the table under my window were two matte jet black boxes. Both were long, but one was slim and shorter and the other longer, wider, and thicker. Both were tied with deep purple ribbons- my favorite color. I’m sure the boxes alone cost more than most of my wardrobe. My family had been perfectly comfortable, but our pack was not known for our wealth; we were known for our strength. A note was on top, in a heavy paper that matched the ribbons. I slipped it out from beneath the ribbon and turned it over. It was lightly perfumed, and it played on my senses as I wondered who this could possibly be from.

the card read in bold, practiced script. As she moved from one box to the next, the variety was dizzying. A rare perfume in a bottle shaped like a teardrop, its scent sharp even before uncapping. A tailored silk shawl in midnight blue, embroidered with her initials. A leather-bound journal, its pages gilt-edged, with an ornate fountain pen tucked neatly beside it. One particularly large box revealed a porcelain tea set, ivory white with gold trim, clearly imported, delicate enough that she handled each piece like glass. Another was filled with art books, limited editions from Milan, their weight satisfying in her hands.

I slowly walk up the stairs as Hunter’s car groans to life and clears from the driveway, followed by Adam’s men. My gaze suddenly catches a glimpse of boxes in front of my door. “What the hell is that?” I squint my eyes and push forward, only to discover large gift boxes with a black envelope on top, the golden Inscription on it boldly says “FROM ADAM.” My heart stops for a few seconds.

"It's Christmas?" "Yeah. Christmas morning." Grace looked at the box. "Is that...?" "For you. Yes." "Aiden, you didn't have to—" "I know. But I wanted to." He picked up the box and held it out. "Here." Grace took it slowly. The wrapping paper was simple. Green with a white ribbon. She sat down next to him and carefully unwrapped it. Inside was a sketchbook. Black leather cover. Thick, cream-colored pages. High quality. Grace stared at it. "A sketchbook?"