Book Picking Up The Pieces Novels & Stories

Meanwhile, Mom had redecorated Linda's entire room with moonlight grass and fresh flowers, hoping the cozy scene would lift her spirits. As for Linda, she was simply lounging comfortably on the couch, holding up the dress against herself. Yet, even that tiny motion made everyone tense, afraid she might get hurt. My soul came back with her, too. This house was full of all my memories, but it felt cold and biting now. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. I recognized the scent. It was my mate, Evan Davidson. Clad in his warrior uniform, he walked through the door carrying a small bag of supplements. He walked straight to Linda and said with concern, "Lucia, I heard that Linda was discharged today. I b

The silence was deep enough that the soft rasp of his steps across the rug felt deafening. He crossed to the far corner of the study, his fingers pressing against the spine of a shelf. With a muted click, the mechanism gave way, and the massive bookcase shifted, grinding open to reveal a hidden recess. From within the darkness, Edgar drew out a fragment—larger, smoother, and far more intact than the one in Livia’s photo.

Maybe it would remind me of a lesson my body seems to have forgotten. I stared at the dustbin behind the door. The shredded remains of the letter still taunted me. A thought hit me, and I jolted up, my chair scraping against the floor. I grabbed the dustbin, shoved my books off the table, and then upended it. The pieces of paper fluttered in the air, before settling on the table. My fingers trembled as I began to piece them together like a puzzle. Every fragment, every jagged piece that clicked together made my chest tighten, my heart hammering.

Pieces of lives she didn’t live, but could step into for a moment if she wanted. She paused in front of a small sign taped crookedly to a shelf. Stories for the Lost. Her lips curved despite herself. “Fitting,” she murmured. She scanned the titles, her eyes catching on a worn paperback with a cracked spine. The cover was faded, a sunflower sketched in uneven lines across the front. It looked loved. The kind of book someone had carried with them through seasons of their life. She reached for it at the same moment another hand did.

The light illuminated the space, full of old objects and stacked boxes. As she walked, a loose floorboard creaked beneath her feet. She bent down to see what it was and, with some effort, lifted the board. She found an old book, covered in dust, with a leather cover filled with drawings of supernatural creatures. Scarlett’s heart began to race; something about the book drew her in, as if it held secrets waiting to be discovered.

After hanging up, I, Andrew Shaw, immediately caught sight of the two people kissing passionately in the hallway. Alex Carter looked up and met my gaze. He deliberately tightened his arm around Josie Jackson's waist as if provoking me. It hurt to even look at them. I turned around and walked away quickly. I was desperate to get away from this place. The wound that had not yet healed started bleeding again, leaving drops of bright red blood behind. The people around me looked at me strangely.

As I lifted the heavy book over the desk, the pages fanned open slightly. Something small and white slipped right out from the middle chapters. It fluttered softly through the air, landing flat on the dark wood of the desk right under the warm light of the lamp. I froze completely. It was a small, torn piece of lined paper. It had not been there when I left my room this afternoon. I had not opened this textbook while I was at Liya's house either. It had been sitting right in the open pocket of my bag the whole time I was working on the couch.

Fuck I miss them too, I hope they don't hate me. "Well I'm back to work now. I'm actually in Paris, first time that I've been back since we were here together, and my god the whole fucking town reminds me of you. I even went to that little bookstore that I took you to, trying to find a little piece of you to keep with me. I found a book that reminded me of you. It's called 'Finding the joy in the smallest things'. That's what you do, you're grateful for the little things in life, you made me grateful for the small things. I found joy in your laugh, your smile, your presence, even finding this stupid little book. But now that I've started reading it I've realised it's one of those self help b

Not food on my boot. I stopped, staring at my room, trying to find every piece of something familiar and kind. The books. I ran to the books, thinking about blood on boots as I ripped down the first bookshelf. I grabbed the back and pulled, letting it smash to pieces on the hard floor. Dandelion barked at me from my mattress when I went to the other, stepping over the books that had fallen. Pages had been torn out, dust jackets ruined. It didn’t matter. I would look at it and remember this day. I would remember what my father was.

Doing this would make me feel at ease. Looking at the pile of books felll because of the impact I did when I hit the shelves, one by one I pick it up and bring it back to the place where they might came from. I don't even bother checking whether they are supposed to be there or not. It wasn't my fault in the first place that they were knocked off the grounds. As long as they are still here, there is nothing to be worried about. I look for the book diary I have with me a while ago but... "I wonder where I put that book..."