Borrowed Light For My Youth Novels & Stories

I say, trying to seem tough. He looks at me, eyes softening just a bit. “Always—my light,” he adds, and it’s like a promise, hitting me square in the gut. I want to kiss him, but there’s no time. We’re crouching behind a dumpster, peering at a corroded manhole cover—the entry into the guild’s stronghold. My light’s humming, ready to burst, and Jude’s shadows are dense, obscuring us from anyone passing by. “Ready?” he asks, and I nod, heart pumping.

Dad's fingers trembled as he tried to open it, but he kept missing the button. Finally, Uncle Arnold reached over with a shaky hand and tapped it for him. The image was taken under the harsh light of a flashlight. The background was a stark landscape of white snow and black rock. Curled up in the snowdrift was a livid, purple-blue figure. His thin windbreaker was torn to shreds, exposing a gaunt, bony back beneath. The person's face was buried in the snow, his expression impossible to make out. But his hand—raised high, frozen mid-air—was clenched around a half sheet of blood-stained paper in a death grip.

I had weaponized the ghost. I looked out the window at the flickering lights of the Swiss villages below. To those people, the world was a collection of simple debts: mortgages, grocery bills, taxes. They didn't know that their entire economic reality was currently being recalibrated by a twenty-three-year-old in the back of a moving car.

But this t ime for each other. For the life we’d steal back. One step at a time. Into the dark. Toward the light.

On senior picture day, the fall of our last year of high school, I did what I always did and stood next to Lena, the girl I'd grown up with. One of our classmates started in on us. "Come on, let the little married couple stand together!" I'd heard it a hundred times, but the secret I was keeping still put color in my face. Lena didn't say anything. Then the photographer counted down, everybody yelled "Cheese," and I heard her voice next to me, low and flat with irritation. "This is exhausting. Can you give me some space?" It was her. I was born with weak vision, so my hearing has always been sharper than most people's. I know what I heard. The second the shutter clicked, she turned

I had been an angel who fell from heaven. When I first arrived in the human world, I had no memories and could not tell a red light from a green one. Evelyn Sheridan took me home. She taught me how to dress and how to eat, and she taught me to call her my wife. In our first year of marriage, I handed a guest a glass of dish soap to drink, and she laughed and smoothed it over for me. In the second year, I spent half the night chatting with a goldfish a guest had given us, and her expression stayed dark all evening. By the third year, she no longer smiled at me. She began bringing home a man named Hudson Lowry more often. She said he had a terminal illness and needed my blessing. I agree

Ten years after I accidentally swapped souls with another man, the Lord of the Underworld finally discovered the mistake. It would take seven days to switch us back. During those seven days, I decided to be an understanding husband. So when Cecelia Marquand told her childhood sweetheart, Harold Lowther, bedtime stories to lull him to sleep, I no longer felt even a flicker of jealousy. When she pretended to be his girlfriend and accompanied him home to meet his parents, I no longer made a scene. At first, Cecelia was thrilled. "Wesley, wouldn't it have been nice if you'd been this understanding from the start? Everyone would have been happier." But gradually, her delight turned to frust

It was much different than anything I had ever experienced. It didn’t feel like it was my power, more like it was borrowed power from the moon itself. When the Darkness came at me again, I didn’t get out of the way. Holding my ground until the last second, I released the light. It shot out of me like an arrow and went right through the Darkness. A flash blinded me for a split second and when it was gone, so was the Darkness.

the seventeenth streetlight was different. Unlike the others, it was barely emitting any fluorescence, and this time, it showed nothing similar to my history. I just turned seventeen yesterday. Maybe this streetlight is trying to foreshadow an event that would alter my life? The passing lights have been telling my life story so far, and I find it hard to believe it's just a coincidence. This could be fate's way of having fun. Maybe this is just an insult thrown by that bastard, so I guess I'll look around the area of the streetlight.

His eyes lit up. Looking back, the bloody-robe youth faced the ancestors with a gloomy eye, yet with strongest determination. He declare as he slice the booody pagoda into several pieces, “Ancestors, like the white embrace withering and achieve unexpected life, the hunt for the end will be a light for beginning... I'll be the darkness within the white light!” The youth taken away the pieces of pagoda with him, restraint the ancestors for a night. With all the berserk that under his control, he flow to the deepest forest, just a distant away from the glowing darkness!