Book X Pillow Novels & Stories

he greeted with a bow. “Paul. What is it you wanted to show me?” “I’ve been running extensive tests on this book since you gave it to me,” he said, picking up the book. “I ran tests on the entire book and came up empty.” I frowned at him. “Then why am I here?” “Well, as I stated, I came up empty…the first time.” He flipped the book open to the pages that replaced the originals. “These pages are made from Sri Lanka Legume Trees.”

My bed was always warm because I kept the thermostat set two degrees higher than Damien preferred, a small rebellion he'd never noticed, and because of the heated body pillow I'd purchased seven months into our marriage on a particularly bleak Tuesday afternoon. The pillow had been an extravagance. Two hundred and forty dollars that I'd put on my own card, not his, because spending his money on something that existed purely to compensate for his absence had felt like a line I didn't want to cross. It was large and firm and maintained a precise temperature that I had, with some private embarrassment, come to think of as approximately correct. Not quite right. But close enough that I could sle

Amazing! Well, as my eyes were scanning the place, I've noticed a man in a white shirt who was lying on the couch with his book on his face, and I guess he was asleep since I could hear him snoring so loud in here, haha! What a snore! I just ignored him and continued to observe the place. Then something had caught my eyes, a book entitled "LOVE and DEATH," by Belle Cassy, I wanted to browse the few chapters of it, but I couldn't, haiisst, I sighed in disappointment, how I wish I could touch it.

I have never had these in my possession before, only seen them in that large bookshop which I passed by in the market. They had called to me. And now I have something similar and even better, as mine. Mine. That comes from within. From my wolf. She barely speaks to me. But that she recognizes this too makes me giddy. I pick the first one in the pile and look at the cover. In His Arms. Written by an unknown author. It has the picture of two people, a man and a woman, lying in bed, tangled up in the white sheets and in each other’s arm, asleep.

Ana probably had school work, but it would be hard to concentrate on English Lit when someone may try to kidnap you. She stood up and looked at me. She jerked her head and started down the hallway. I took her cue and followed after her. Her bedroom door was open when I arrived. I left it like that in case Bill came by to check on things. I hadn't been in her room before. It was a mix of a teenage girl and a college girl. The walls were light pink with purple accent curtains over the windows. Purple throw pillows were on her bed and a ruffled bed spread adorned it too. I went over to one wall where she had pictures hanging. I saw a few of her with Kylie and one of me and Brody. My eyebrows wi

"Yeah, because who in the hell still uses bar soap?" "I do for my face." I smile and roll my eyes. "You need couch pillows. And a throw blanket." I eye the ones in the bedding aisle and he grabs a random throw blanket with a wolf on it and mismatched, bright colored pillows. "What are you doing?" "Getting what you say. Throw blanket and pillows for my couch." I crinkle my nose and stare down at the pillows. "Colorful choices." "Yep. That will remind me of you every time I see them."

She's wearing red-and-white polka dot pajamas with a white towel wrapped neatly atop her head. I move to enter the bathroom, passing her by. When she pays me no attention, I turn and watch her. She snuggles underneath the covers on her assigned side of the bed with a book in her hand. Nestling further into the sheets and letting her head fall back on the pillow, she removes a glittery bookmark and flops the book open, holding it between two delicate fingers. The book cover is sweet, with an animated couple entangled in each other's arms. A hockey stick logo stands out in gold on the top corner.

Yam sliced it open slowly, hands trembling. Inside was their book. “The Art of Staying.” Cover: a sunflower. A crooked shelf. Two mugs—one chipped. And behind it all, the suggestion of a fan, mid-spin. Franc stared at it like it might whisper back. “Feels unreal,” Yam said. Franc flipped through pages. Some with artwork. Others with Yam’s poetry. Their story—wired beginnings and all—now bound in matte finish. “I think this book breathes,” Franc said.

Maybe, just maybe, I'll see Nixie and the others again, and they can explain better what they were saying in my dream. As I was about to lay my head down, I saw the tip of the book. "Oh, goddess please let it be the book," I mumbled a prayer, as my hope was suddenly renewed. And just like I prayed, it turned out that the book was under the pillow Leland gave me. It took a lot of restraint on my end for me not to scream out in Joy.

We follow him to the library where Buppig has been teaching me my lessons every day. I stop beside Buppig as Ailduin walks to one of the library walls. He pulls down a small book, bringing it back to the table where we’re standing. The book may be small, but it is ornate, with a hard cover that feels like it's made of gold and etchings made of a lighter shade of gold. “Have a seat.” He says as he opens the book. He turns it toward me. “Read that. Out loud, please.”