All My Knotted Up Life Novels & Stories

Only one woman. Flora. The tangled truth bleeds through every paragraph. Each chapter is a thread pulled from the tapestry of their past—and she has woven it into something fierce and aching. He reads late into the night. The city quiets around him. The storm softens to a whisper. He doesn’t stop until the final page. And there it is. In soft, deliberate ink, handwritten beneath the last printed line, a confession lives: You were the only real thing. Forgive me. —F.

I didn't want them to end up like I had in my previous life and how Lila had ended up in this life. Instead, I wanted them to be like cacti that possessed tenacious vitality.

She couldn’t easily distinguish between her current reality and the memories from her past life. "I… I’m sorry." She said and got up. "What is seriously happening to you? You’ve been late, and we were worried sick about you. Then we’ll suddenly learn that you moved in here for no clear reason, by the way. We come here and we see you passed out, and before we know it, you’re strangling one of us too." Karina exclaimed right after she had recovered. Kate helped her brother get up while Art was still processing what happened. Both Carl and Arianne looked worried about Alice, but they didn’t know what to say or do.

It was difficult, because I could not see clearly, I was living on borrowed time and limited oxygen and the water pressure pushing me down and smoldering the life out of me was insane. The main knot of the rope had come undone while Tina had been pushing me around, and that was when I knew the universe had given me a chance of escape. Now, I could easily unravel the rest of the knots and free my hands. As quickly as possible, I freed my hands from the rope and it floated away.

I'm an introvert, I would be perfectly happy doing introverted things if only I wasn't desperate for the money she has. I got up from bed reluctantly and went to the bathroom to take my bath. I'm sure I'd mentioned this before but I am impossibly poor. My entire family share a small bathroom located at the end of the house. I wanted to open the door to the bathroom and it was locked. I knocked in the door telling whoever was in there that I needed to get ready for school since I was running late. There was no response from the other side. I already woke up irked and I didn't need a member of my family adding to my frustrations.

The wound closed wrong and is infected in a way that resists the physician's treatments, and his thread reflects it — the knot I saw from the doorway is tight and hot and angry. I sit beside him, and I find the knot, and I work at it differently than I worked at the fraying. A knot is not a fraying. A knot is something that was tied too tight in the wrong direction and needs to be loosened before it can be released. I find where it starts, and I follow it back to the moment the wound closed wrong, and I look at what the thread was doing then, and I ask it, in the way of the domain, to try again. The guard hisses. Actual pain this time, brief and real, as the knot releases. He grabs the bed f

Nonetheless, it didn't last long, and she didn't look back as she strode off. As agony overwhelmed me, I recalled the first time I played the piano for her. At the time, she had leaned against the piano while gazing at me. Reaching out to take my hand, she had uttered oh-so-gently, "Sebby, I really love you like this." Ten years ago, I stepped into the depths of hell because of my decision to save her. Ten years later, she cut the last link tying me to her with her own hands. … At three in the morning, I was crumpled on the floor of the abandoned warehouse, my fingers bent and twisted into horrifying angles, when several of my men came rushing in with medical equipment.

My stomach knots, fingers fumbling in my hair until the braid falls apart. God-fucking-damnit.