Backwards B Novels & Stories

Just as she was about to speak, she noticed the curious glances from her business partners. Catching her gaze, James Vanderberg offered an awkward smile. "Ms. Thorne, you seem busy. We can discuss the proposal another time." The others quickly nodded in agreement. "Yes, yes, go ahead." "We'll talk next time." With that, they all hurried away. Beatrice had no reason to stop them. Besides, she was far too embarrassed to try. Maxwell had turned what should have been a proper business negotiation into an utter disaster. She couldn't bear to imagine the ridicule she'd face in her professional circle. Unfortunately, her worst fears came true.

Tears streamed down his face as he begged me in a trembling voice. “Zoe, I can accept bankruptcy, but I truly cannot live without you! Without you by my side, I feel hollow. Please, come back to me. I know I was wrong. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you!” I let out a short, empty laugh. “What can a bankrupt and ruined man like you give me and my child?” Those words stunned him. The question cut through the last shred of his pride like a blade. With that, I turned to leave, giving him no hope.

Minus “Well, that could’ve gone better,” Cutter said, as he walked around his desk, opened the bottom drawer, and produced a bottle of Jim Beam and small black medical bag. The type old timey doctors took on house calls back in the day. “There should be some bandages and ointment and shit for your face in here. You can use my bathroom to clean up,” he said, handing me the bag and motioning to the bathroom door. “Cutter, what the fuck—”

Then Ophelia spoke again. “Run it back.” The room hesitated. Even the system seemed reluctant. The woman frowned. “Why?” “Because something doesn’t fit.” “The attack failed.” “That’s not what I’m looking at.” A beat. “Run it back.” Silence stretched through the chamber. Then the system responded. The displays shifted. Data streams reversed. Events unfolded backward. Entire minutes of activity rewound themselves. The attack replayed. Frame by frame. Every intrusion. Every response. Every decision.

She looked at the screen, Benjamin's name showed up saying 'did you get home safe? “Yes, I got home safe. What about you?” Kathilyn replied back, and she waited for him to reply but no answer. She waited until her eyes felt heavy and fell asleep.

walkthrough, the silence was heavy, broken only by the frantic whispers of assistants and the sharp click of expensive shoes on the marble floor. ​I stood behind the secondary camera, my hands steady only because of years of practice, though my chest felt like it was collapsing. He was right there—barely ten feet away. I could see the familiar curve of his jaw and the way his hair caught the light, but the warmth was gone. He looked like a statue carved from ice.

Both things are true and both are forward. He read the entry back. The word forward appeared often in the journal — it was one of the words the journal had developed, a shorthand for the orientation that the arrangement required and had produced. Forward was the opposite of backward-looking. It was the quality of being oriented toward what was coming rather than what had been. It was the quality of building rather than mourning, of intention rather than regret, of the living thing rather than the dead one.

After Wilbur watched the black liquid for a few seconds, it actually started to flow backward instead. "What?" Wilbur looked at the black liquid on the ground in disbelief. He could not believe that the black liquid was flowing backward. After all, mines were dug downward, and to prevent water from flowing back, the mines were designed with slopes to ensure that water would not flow back once it flowed out. Yet, at that moment, the black liquid was flowing backward. The depth of this liquid seemed to be only about ten centimeters. Such a liquid could not possibly be able to flow backward. Yet, it was happening right in front of Wilbur.

Minnie adjusted the hem of her oversized flannel jacket, nervously tugging it lower as she stood at the front door. The black combat boots on her feet were scuffed at the toes, her magenta-dyed curls tucked under a knit beanie she almost didn’t wear—but in the end, she couldn’t bring herself to walk into her father’s house without some sort of armor. She already knew what was waiting on the other side: her stepmother’s passive-aggressive glances, her sister’s glossy pity, and her father’s complete lack of noticing anything beyond whatever team was playing on the living room screen.

the young man replied. "Young Master! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I'm so very sorry! This is my fault that we got into this accident!" a middle-aged man continuously apologized as he kept on bowing to the young man. The driver clearly saw that it was the "go" sign, so he pressed on the gas handle. However, in blindsight, someone suddenly rushed in front of the car, resulting in a collision and accident. Thus, the driver could not help but tremble, knowing that someone could possibly die at this moment due to him.