Booktok Doorframe Lean Novels & Stories

I stood in awe, admiring it as I ran my fingers along the smooth edges of the design. After taking in the beauty, I realized the door was cracked open, so I walked in. The layout of this home was intricate and breathtakingly gorgeous. The interior revealed a grand, high-ceilinged space filled with silver-spined books that seemed to stretch up to the heavens. Towering shelves, crafted from a rich, dark wood, supported the tomes, their silver lettering glinting in the soft, ambient light.

He stepped toward the door, his hand resting on the latch. The air coming from the cracks around the frame smelled sharply of old dust and something metallic, like rusted iron left in the rain. “If something attacks us, I deal with it,” he continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You focus on staying alive. Understood?” he did not wait for her confirmation. He pressed his weight against the door, pushing it open slowly. On the other side of the door was a large, dimly lit stone storage room. Tall wooden shelving units line almost every wall. They are packed with wooden crates, barrels, ceramic pots, metal vessels, rolled fabrics, sacks, books, boxes and other supplies. Numerous woo

Or, What do you expect when you treat everyone around you like garbage? Instead, I tell her, “We can argue about this later.” “There won’t be a later!” Leah shouts. Too loud. Far too loud. Whatever had been looking for us in the hallway begins to pound on the door. That lock is flimsy, meant only to direct and deter the slaves. There’s no real threat in it. It’s not meant to keep out monsters. The wood of the door begins to splinter. What surprises me, in my panic-addled brain, is how the door seems more likely to give before the lock. Perhaps it’s not such a flimsy lock as I previously thought.

Not quite a smile. "Come in," he said, and stepped back from the door. The inside of the house was not what I had expected. I had prepared myself for an extension of the fourteenth floor. The controlled stark look, the deliberate quiet, the atmosphere of a space that had been designed to function rather than to feel. But the entrance hall had a child's drawing framed on the wall. A large figure and a small figure standing in front of something that might have been a house or might have been a tree. The large figure had dark scribbled hair. The small figure had what appeared to be a rabbit under one arm.

It looked strikingly similar to mine. After revealing both pieces of evidence, the officer eyed me sternly and said, "Do you have anything to say in your defense, Mr. Latham?" With Jessica and Stanley anxiously watching me, I slowly shook my head.

I have a feeling this isn’t food. I twist the single manacle I’m left wearing on my right hand as I near the door, worried about messing up my plan by opening it and whoever’s behind it locking it tight again, like Declan failed to do. I make a snap decision and stuff a book as far as I can beneath the left door, knowing the right side is always the one that swings open. If the door remains unlevel, it won’t lock properly. At least, I’m praying that’s the case. I listen as keys jingle on the other side of the door and stand back, my heart hammering.

My dad tries to get me to leave the book, but I tell him what the rest of the paragraph said. My dad moves the panel wider open and steps through, and then when I step over the threshold the panel closes behind me and seals itself back up. I jump a little bit, as a bunch of dim lights start to turn on by themselves. The dim lights lead down a small path to another door that seems like it’s locked when dad tries to open it. However as soon as I step closer with the book, 2 circles appear, 1 on the door and another on the back of the book. I line them up with each other and there is a sound of deadbolts unlocking and the door swings open on its own accord.

Then, with all the strength he seems to have in his body, he pulls. At first, nothing seems to happen, but then there’s a sound like metal being stretched. I can’t hear him groaning from inside the car, but I can see his face, twisted with strain, his cheeks growing redder and redder by the second. Metallic groans and pops sound from the hinge and the latch of the door. Then suddenly, the entire door snaps off its frame. Blake topples over backwards and kicks a leg up to keep the door from crashing down on top of him. It falls to the side and lands in the brush, and I hear him let out a deep exhale.

"Yes, Michael." I turn to look at Roman and say; "Let's see if we can get this door open, shall we?" I walk closer to the door. I step on a flat piece of rock, and I hear a click sound on the other side of the door. I try to push, but the door is not moving. I start to feel around the frame to see if I can not detect something that might stick out. I feel three-round pieces sticking out of the frame. One is on the left side, the other on the right, and the last one on the top part of the frame. I call out;

he said when he opened the door and I didn't waste the opportunity to rush in, tucking myself between the door leaf and the frame. It could have been Ben's prohibition that stopped him from letting me in. "Are you hiding something?" My eyes scanned the entire view of the room that was actually the same size as my apartment, but the four-meter-high end of the room was partitioned off like two floors. A thin floor mattress was visible in the loft above the pantry, complete with a low table supporting a laptop. "Wow! This looks more spacious." The space near the door is dominated by bookshelves and a low circular table that is wide enough for Japanese houses to greet. The floor looks like wood