Book Reading Journals Novels & Stories

A blast of cold air rushed up from below, smelling like wet stone, old blood, and something rotten beneath snow. The journal slid across the floor toward the opening. “No!” I lunged for it. Damien caught me tighter. “Leave it.” “No.” “That thing wants you closer.” “The book has been more honest than half the people in this town.” “It is not a person.” “Neither are half the people in this town.” The journal teetered on the edge. Pages fluttering. Glowing. Waiting. Then one page ripped free and flew upward on a burst of silver wind.

Ancient books lined the shelves, their pages filled with forgotten knowledge, while relics of a bygone era adorned every surface. Curiosity led us deeper into the chamber, until we discovered an old journal, its leather cover aged and weathered. Lya carefully opened it, her eyes scanning the faded ink that adorned its pages. The words within were fragments of a lost history, a testament to the struggles and triumphs of those who had come before us.

Yet here I was, in this room full of people who had chosen me, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. I smiled, a real one this time, and sat at the center of the circle. April clapped her hands together, bubbling in excitement. “Okay, enough of the emotional display. Let’s get to work. Book Club is officially back in session!” Laughter filled the room. We started tossing around ideas for the next reading list, but the discussion quickly turned into a chaotic mess of inside jokes and playful teasing. Maya insisted we include something “dark and brooding,” while Sammy argued for something “funny, because God knows we all need to laugh more.” April rolled her eyes and wrote both

Instead, she shifted gears, asking, "What were you reading?" I snapped my fingers, and my journal reappeared in my hand. It was a treasured possession, filled with entries spanning the past 100 years. I had amassed a collection of these journals, each one a testament to my love of recording every detail of my life. I wrote about experiences, adventures, thoughts, plans, and ideas - nothing was left unrecorded.

In the Meath library, Kaida closed the last journal and stared at it on the table. All week she'd been reading through the passages, and it had been harder than she'd anticipated. She'd attempted to look at them with a professional, objective eye, tried to distance herself from the human element and view them as research, but that was impossible.

Kennedy POV. The weather was bad, but I needed to get that new book, it's Robert birthday gift, who'd knew a grown up man would kill for the newest werewolf love book. I got into my car, drove carefully toward the local book store, they had the new book reserved for me. It was supposed to one quick drive, until I walked into the library. A girl was sitting on a bean bag, her blond hair was covering her eyes with overgrown bangs, she tried to huff them away from her face but to no use. She looked young, maybe she's just here with her parents, looking down at the book she had in her hands it was a kids story. Does she read for the local kids? Or is it just for her?

I don’t try touching it again. Closing the box, I approach the shelves. I take out the book closest to me. Brushing off the dust, I realize it’s a strategy book, written in delicate penmanship. The paper is fragile, but the tome is bound with great care. The other side of the shelf seems to have hard-bound journals. It’s like an entire couple’s life secured in one small room. I hear a scraping sound, and I turn my head to see Robert picking up a stack of small portraits from one of the iron boxes in the corner.

“I think so. But this is a lot. What do you think? Should we read through it?” “That should be your decision to make,” I shrugged. “It’s your father’s, you should know best.” “Fine.” She tossed aside the spell book and opened up the journal. “Let’s read this.” “By the end of this all, I will probably read more books for Killian’s sake than I would ever think of doing for the rest of my life.” I sighed dramatically and came to stand beside her again. “Stop whining, you could be at a battlefield right now, but you are here, so shut up.”

Jaden I read through the first journal, careful not to tear any of the pages. There wasn’t much to find to begin with, as there was nothing about the moonstone pack or Claxton. Night had come, and the fire crackled in the lounge as they sat on the floor, tearing through the pages. The smell of smoke wafted through the air, mingling with the musty scent of old books. We tore through the journal’s contents like wild animals ripping apart their prey, desperate for any scrap of knowledge that could aid us in our mission.

You deserve it. You know, I hated the idea of reading books. It felt boring and static. Well guess who is a book worm now. I still am on the ones you brought 6 months ago. I know you would have mouthed the words, slow reader. I agree I am slow but I feel I have to be, because I am a new reader. You know, I can liken reading a book to having a wizard’s broom. While reading, I have travelled to different places and felt a rush of different emotions. Books are magical. I now see what makes you stick your nose in them all the time.