Between The World And Me Book Review Novels & Stories

The world is full of sadness and misery. "It is!" Alfi exclaimed. "The world is rotten. I always cry every time because of how cruel the world is. But, finally, I found the people I can believe in and they believe in me too. Now that I met them, I stop crying anymore. Finally, I found the beauty in this world of shit. That”s why... I don”t wanna die!!!" He added. "So you will defeat that shrimp-brain-rhino?" She added. "I”d love to, but I”m out of Iru and I can”t breathe." Alfi sighed.

DEDICATION: I dedicate this chapter to 'Mhiz Grace Pretty' for dropping two gems on my book this month. You are amazing 😘 Elliot's POV The book was magnificent. Just as I imagined. Once I reached home I had already prepared myself to open it but I had to savour the moment of having the first magic book in the world.

"I bought the book this morning. I read it in one sitting. I need to tell you something. Not about us. About the book. Can I call?" I stared at the screen. Eleanor pulled herself up on the kitchen table. Julian looked at me from across the counter. I showed him the message. He read it. Was quiet for a moment. "The book is in the world now," he said. "It is going to reach everyone it needs to reach." "Including him," I said. "Including everyone," he said. I looked at the message. At Julian. At Eleanor standing at the kitchen table with the dark watchful eyes.

"After everything we went through, I learned to be what I was always meant to be. Something between worlds." They rose into the air. Reality bent around them like fabric. "I am not letting you take my world or my people. And you are about to learn why making an enemy of someone who exists between dimensions was a mistake.”

When I said that, Jeffrey looked surprised for just a second, but then he composed himself and gave me a book. "This is the medical book you wanted. While you were sick, I made a copy for you." I grabbed the book fast, scared that I might start crying at any moment. Back in my room, I looked through the copied book, touching the confident writing. There was only one copy of this medical book in the entire world, and it was kept by a collector. The borrowing process was difficult, and anyone who got it had to return it within a day. Jeffrey probably stayed up all night to copy it.

“What do you mean?” “A third book,” they said. “One that fills the space between her silence and your voice.” I swallowed. “That sounds like something the world needs.” River nodded. “But I don’t care if the world needs it.” They smiled. “I do.”

I complied, opening a random page toward the center of the book and skimmed through those words. "The world is a mixture of black, white, and gray. My world is simply a mixture of black and white. Some have done the punishing. And those that will be punished. Which side do I fall on? Black or white? To be punished or to do the punishing? To fight for what's right or to see my death without a fight?"

… over me. I’m caught between two worlds. One forged in fire and passion. The other built with patience and quiet strength. And no matter who wins this fight, a part of me is going to break. So I do the only thing I can do. I watch. And I pray neither of them dies before I figure out which world I truly belong to.

‘I will make every last one of you pay! She climbed out and dried her body leaving the once-white towel red. Alice bandaged her wounds and dressed in the same clothes. She looked at herself in the mirror. The person staring back at her looked depleted. Who was this person? Every time she looked at herself, a stranger stared back at her. Her eyes held no life in them, only an empty shell stared back. She felt sorry for the girl in the mirror. Why can’t this person just get a break? Why does this world hate her so much that it not only tramples on her but pulls her apart?

After a moment, she stood upright, turning toward me with a knowing grin. “The Universe of Us,” she said, breathless. Of course she knew it by heart. I shouldn’t have been surprised — she’d always loved this book. She’d told me once how Lang Leav could write things she herself couldn’t put into words, how every line felt like a mirror reflecting her soul. She began to speak, her voice soft and melodic, like she was reciting a prayer she’d kept close for years.