Book Speaks Novels & Stories

He was here for me. When we finally settled down into our usual circle, Linda Lively's book was opened, I noticed the way Kael handled his copy. Like it was something worth respecting, worth holding carefully. It made me smile. “Kael,” April said suddenly, her grin mischievous, “why don’t you read for us?” I half expected him to decline. To smirk and shake his head like reading aloud was beneath him. But instead, he nodded. Took the book and cleared his throat.

My voice is low and cold. ************* Note: Don't forget to like, comment and share the book! This really helps it grow on the platform

Ava The Las Vegas Book Festival was held in a sprawling park just off the strip. Tents stretched across the grass, white canopies flapping in the desert wind. Authors milled about, clutching coffee cups and clutching their nerves. Readers wandered between booths, arms loaded with books, faces bright with excitement. I was scheduled to speak at 2 PM on the main stage. My talk went well. Better than well. The crowd was warm, engaged, full of questions about forgiveness and healing and the stories that save us. I read from my novel—the passage about Elena learning to be alone—and watched as people wiped their eyes.

The book remained silent, twisting its lips like a female putting on a gloss, “Well, I'm Cwena Engow, and this is Gerey -” “Spare me the details,” the book screamed loudly at her, “I know who you both are better than you both know yourself,” “Shhh, you're going to attract my mother's attention if you continue speaking with such volume. And how did you know us?” “Don't you dare lay as much as a finger on me,” with a scared tone, the book told Gerey who'd wanted to lift it unto his lap, “Unless - you want to burn me.”

I should be so professional that he can't even find any faults. I lifted the heavy book using both of my hands and placed it in front of me as it created a huge sound. I sensed Gabriel turned to me, but I didn't care. If something breaks because of these books, then it is on him. He fucking forced me. I opened the book and started to read, trying my best to understand everything that I read. It is about clothing and fashion. It is not that complicated, but it is hard.... maybe because I don't know anything about clothing and fashion.

I look over to where Primus had been sitting not so long ago. What's this? Primus left something behind. A book? Was this the gift he meant to give me? It is a small thing, dainty. I cannot imagine someone as large as Primus ever reading this because how could he ever hold onto it without breaking it? It looks so precious, and fragile. Even as a child, I can't imagine he would have been small or careful enough to read it. Gently, as if lifting a rose from a vase, I pick up the blush pink volume, marveling at the delightful texture of its silk binding, the title embroidered in gold. While I might not know many words yet, I know enough that I can read the title of this book.

This is the story of the floor I was standing on when I learned to do it. She stopped. She read the words back to herself. It wasn't a speech. It was slower, far more interior—a quiet, breathing thing that didn't feel the frantic pressure to resolve itself in a twenty-minute climax. She realized that the slowness she had feared was actually the entire point. Speeches landed and ended. Books stayed. A book would live inside a stranger at three in the morning. It would be kept on a nightstand, returned to in moments of quiet desperation, its margins heavily underlined.

Hearing the voice, Samuel immediately looked around anxiously. "There's no need to look around. This heaven is me, the ground is me, the air is me, the trees are me, and everything is me. I am everything here." The voice was bright and clear. "Then who the hell are you?" Samuel said frowningly. "Me? My name is Heavenly Book, the Eight Desolations Heavenly Book." Samuel was puzzled, but Velocisaurus was suddenly shocked. "What? You are the Eight Desolations Heavenly Book?"

The librarian, a wise old man with spectacles perched on his nose, had greeted them warmly and invited them to explore the dusty shelves filled with ancient tomes. As Scarlett's fingers grazed the spines of the books, a particular leather-bound volume caught her eye. Its title, "The Prophecy of the Shifting Stars," called to her with an inexplicable pull. She plucked it from the shelf and dusted off its cover, revealing faded golden letters etched into the leather. Curiosity burned within Scarlett. She opened the book and began to read aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. The words flowed like poetry from her lips, resonating deeply within her soul.

he continued, setting the second book on top of it, "is the one you asked for. I flipped through it. It's a personal narrative detailing life in the kingdom under Stephan's reign, and it contains interviews with some of the king's advisors." She considered the book with the worn blue cover and the sparkling silver print, running her hand over the words embossed on its front. "Wow..." she muttered softly, "thank you for finding this." "Of course!" he said, still sporting a friendly smile. "Although," he began again, having taken a short break from speaking, "I am curious as to how you knew to ask about this." "Oh?" she looked at him, puzzled. "Why's that?" "Because," he addressed her quietly,