Books Like The Things They Carried Novels & Stories

He picked up the paperback. Turned it over. A novel he didn’t know. Not important. A paperback with a cracked spine and the specific softness of a much loved book. He opened it to the turned down page. She’d underlined something. One sentence. In pencil. Faint. The pencil of someone who underlined things carefully. Not aggressively. Just marking something worth returning to. He read it. The things we carry for others are never really burdens, they’re the proof that someone trusted us with their weight.

my wolf concurred. I got to work packing what little I could call my belongings in a ratty duffel bag. I didn’t have much or anything of reasonable value except my fairytale book, it was the most important thing to me. I stared long and hard at the book but I couldn’t bring myself to throw away the only thing that I had with me during hard times. I knew every story in the book like the back of hand. I slipped it into my duffel bag and I was ready to go.

“The Chief and Oliver made their army, they just didn’t realize that their army would fight for the other side.” Yhendorn slides the bag over to us. “Go ahead, take a look.” Everett pulls the bag over to us, laying his chin on my shoulder as he works around me to open the bag and pull out some of the oldest looking books I’ve ever seen. When he pulls them out, Yhendorn releases his breath. “Yhendorn?” Kenna asks him.

“You’re the only one who hasn’t looked at me like I need a pat on the head and a breathalyser.” “Because I remember your wife,” Frank said. “And because there’s a difference between mad and haunted.” He shifted. “There’s a room under the sacristy. Books that shouldn’t be read lightly. A Jesuit left them when he passed through in ‘83. He said our coast holds old stories the old people wouldn’t name. He called them ‘things that don’t forgive.’” A pause. “I don’t like the books. But sometimes you don’t need to like a ladder to climb out of a hole.”

Everyone seemed like they were trying to disappear. Her backpack thumped heavily against her back with every step — the weight a reminder of everything she wasn’t ready to lose. Notebooks filled with messy sketches of that impossible crimson bloom that haunted her thoughts. The backup phone she’d turned on after the last one died mysteriously. A few old keys she didn’t even remember what they unlocked. And her oldest, most precious possession — a worn, dog - eared sketchbook she’d carried for years, pages yellowed and edges frayed.

Things were still pretty good back then after the war that separated us from the Werewolves. When things died down, it was like a breath of fresh air for us to be free with who we were. “Do you see anything?” Not yet, all these things were just records of administration and important events. The book was quite huge so I knew that I was in for a long time. It was very dusty so I had to hold my breath Everytime I flipped the pages. “I think I found something.” Lawrence crouched beside me to look at the book. The entry dated

He handed the books he had chosen to the young worker and stuffed his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. "'The SAS Survival Handbook?' and '2020 Standard Catalog of Firearms'?..." The worker raised her brows at the young man in front of her, the corner of her lips twitching unconsciously, as she used this opportunity to look at his handsome face. "Your taste is still as random as always." This guy would either wander around the bookstore just looking around, or buy the most random craziest books ever. She remembers the first time she saw him buying books here, the titles of those being "Demons: The Devil, Possession & Exorcism" and "Poisonous Plants". The poor girl wasn't sure if this guy wa

Nanny Rita said it contains some cute stuff from her high school days – a phase in her life that brought her so much trauma. She breathed deep before opening the bag. It contains old slum books and a diary with broken lock. She smirked thinking that her mother could have forced to open it. She must be disappointed to see nothing juicy about the things that she wrote there. Her younger life was boring and predictable until it wasn't. In fact, each page of her diary contains almost the same events. As she randomly went through each page, she noticed a paper inserted within its pages. She almost dropped the diary upon seeing that paper from way back. It's still obvious that it was once cru

In her hands, she held a very beat-up copy of ‘Of Mice and Men. “Oh, Harriet! Thank you!” I squeezed my best friend before clutching the book to my chest. She grinned at me before she turned back to run back to where Matt was. I found my feet leading me back towards the creek. Away from the burned buildings, away from the chard remains of the carnival, and away from the dead. The thought of the packhouse was suffocating on a carefree regular day. Now there was over three times the amount of people shoved in there. For some reason, I felt like the creek was where I should be, like something in my gut was pulling me there.

"Oh, if we went full name, we could go for Inhale Your Sperm. Reaching, maybe, but better than Flatty Tabby." "If I wanted to start a fight, toothpick, you'd already be-" "That's enough." I stood, interposing myself between the two. "What does she owe?" "World literature textbook, number 19-104. Raisin in the Sun 81. The Things They Carried 30. Frankenstein 0-75. Two copies of Beowulf, number 57 and one that's just three question marks." She glanced up contemptuously. "Did you return anything all year? There's more here."