Book Selfish Novels & Stories

I don’t have a phone I can use to reach either of them; I haven’t had a phone for days now. I flip the page of the self-help book which I’d grabbed from duty-free earlier, internally hating myself for not picking one of the other enticing fiction books I’d seen, but I thought about sleep, and the fact that I’d have to induce myself on this flight back to actually make it through, and went with it. It’s a book about the power of conversations, which I find ironic because of the situation I’m currently in, and because nothing in the past three pages I’ve read seemed helpful.

“I’ll write back.” I buy a small paperback on the way out because I want to put money into a place that gave me my breath back for an hour. The cashier gives me a free bookmark that says, You are already the story. I want to cry again. I don't. I put it in the book like a secret.

A medium-weight blanket that could survive the dryer and didn’t care about spills. On my way to the register I remembered the conversation we’d had at the diner about books and the way her eyes had lit sideways when she mentioned a mystery author. Banks once showed me how to find the public side of a wish list when a pack kid didn’t know how to ask for a birthday gift. I tried the same trick now and felt briefly like a burglar when it pulled up—H. Williams—Books—all paperbacks, nothing flashy, a handful of titles I recognized and two I didn’t. I picked three, then forced myself to stop, because generosity without brakes can feel like pressure. I paid and didn’t look at the total. Wolves coun

Does he think this is some game, walking in here like nothing happened like he didn’t shut me out and hurt me? I finally reach the row of shelves stacked with books, the bold label ‘SELF HELP’ hanging over the top. I stop there and fold my arms over my chest, not turning to look at him. He wanted a book on second chances and forgiveness? Well, here’s a whole damn section full of them. “I don’t know which one to go for. I think I need a little expert help,” his voice comes from just behind me, too close. It brushes the back of my neck and I can feel him right beside me, close enough that his scent wraps around me.

But something had shifted. I passed a bookstore with its lights still on. In the window was a sign: GED Prep Books Clearance Sale. I stared at it for a long time before making up my mind to check it out. The woman behind the counter looked up when I entered. I didn’t speak. Just pointed at the book in the window. “That one’s five,” she said. I pulled out a crumpled five-dollar bill from my pocket and handed it over. Walking home with that book felt like stealing light from the sky.

Now, all I needed was time to amass savings without the burden of additional expenditures. Finally, I felt peace… *** Alex. Growing up in an orphanage taught me the profound lesson of impermanence: nothing truly belonged to me, as everything was shared. Clothes would pass from older to younger siblings and then to even younger ones, embodying a cycle of temporary ownership devoid of exclusivity. Yet, within this environment of communal sharing, I discovered the unique treasure of books. Reading a book allowed me to possess something intangible and exclusively mine: knowledge. This knowledge, once acquired, remained indelibly etched in my mind, a personal wealth that no act of sharing could d

I turned around again on my bed trying to find a magic position to make me sleep and forget reality. I just couldn't rest, as I turned around my eyes landed on that one book, that one book I do not like to cslla book , I call it life. I got off my bed and walked to my drawer to pick up my bible. I had gifted one to Desiree and I had one with me. I opened it up and started reading…. One hour later…. I closed down on my bible with a heavy sigh from my lungs. My heart was now steady and normal. I looked at the bible again and just smiled, funny how much life it had and no one seems to understand the gravity it has, the amount of life it gives.

For these brothers, my body seems to be insatiable. I can’t seem to get enough. I want and I want, and I want and I want. What a selfish woman I am. A knock sounds on the door, and, with my mind in a haze, I can’t react fast enough before Steven enters and sees me holding this book.

"What came to steal from me?” "I came to get my book," I answered entredentes. The old man frowned, tipping his head slightly. "I don't have any books.” "I'm not blind, he's in your hand.” The man had the audacity to try to hide the book on his bent back. "This bible was a gift from my adoptive daughter. You can't want to steal it. There are jewels in the drawers, money under the mattress. Leave my bible alone.”

no, I arranged his bed again that I had scattered, cause no matter how mad I was for burning my project up, I still didn't wanted any fucking trouble when he was back, so that he wouldn't kill me out of anger for messing with his stuff, but as soon as am about to quietly return back to my own lane to wait innocently, and yell at that dickhead when he was back about why on earth he burnt my project up, my curious eyes, yes, the same eyes that would make him kill me, drifted to the side, and I see a black book placed perfectly on the side of his bed "I didn't even know he had something like this, but it must have fell from under his pillow" I told myself as I picked it up to return it back to