Brat Novel Novels & Stories

Brian, mostly refered to as brianna is my uncle only child, who decided to be gay all of a sudden, it sad to say she more girlie than I would ever be, she be like ' girl, you gotta be up and doing, no muchacho out there would come for a plane Jane like you, check me out girl" while twirling around like a bad bitch at 18 Smiling from every corner of my mouth, I won't settle for less this time, packing my things into my bags, still waiting anxiously, for a call from hubby, thank goodness dad paid for the wifi I could feel my life sipping away from me. Taking my phone I browsed top Romance niches, how to be a mafia wife, nothing is relating to being a mafia wife at sixteen, that's just si

Bright started obviously forgetting everything about frying. "Hmm?" "We have to buy Br-braille... yeah, those books for Bubble. Little stories, because his teacher said they started teaching him the ABC things-" "Alphabet." I said hiding my laughter. "Shush, I know that. So the school gave us that Braille book with words.. like those cat, bat stuff. But we'll have to buy further ones." Bright explained.

A memory flashed. "Mama! Mama! Where are you?! Grandpa?!" A little child holding a small plushy called out. A few drops of blood coating the soft cotton of her ripped clothes. A few wounds visible on her sensitive skin, tears streaming down her face as she began to crawl through the scorching environment. The flames flickering violently, it crackles through the cold night. Her bed burning, a warm liquid sliding down her arm. It was slit and was barely making any improvement to heal.

The leather binding has fancy marks in it and has title imprinted on the front. "That first kiss." Ugh, from just the title you could tell that a teenage girl at the start of her puberty wrote it. I couldn't really tell if Nova's a girl or a boy, he wants to be called a "he" but then writes a full novel about a CEO obsessing over a girl. I don't know why Nova doesn't want to call it a book when it obviously was. Don't let the title fool you, the story slowly turns dark and twisted.

I punched the bridge of my nose and rubbed my temples, telling the stress that had chained me to release me from it's shackles. Jade's turn and she told a story that had already been written by some author known as Godwin Hosanna Aga. The book was named in the deep and it was about some girl named Hephzibah and it was pretty interesting and scary the way my baby sister had told it with a touch light under her chin, illuminating her face and weird canines. "And that is, in the deep!" Jade screamed, stomping her feet on the floor and howling like a wolf.

But in Bryer’s chest, it was thunder, loud and chaotic and impossible to ignore. He shifted his weight, glanced down at the book again as if to reassure himself it was still real. The Sky Beneath Our Feet. That was the one. The out-of-print novel Raegan had mentioned weeks ago over lukewarm coffee and crumpled napkins at the diner down the street. He remembered the way she’d leaned forward as she talked, elbows on the table, hands moving animatedly like she was trying to pull the memory closer. She’d lit up, eyes bright, voice warming as she explained how she’d stumbled across a battered library copy in high school and had been chasing that feeling ever since.

Did she spare a thought for the house I mortgaged or the plain dinners and crowded bus rides I endured? In an avalanche, no snowflake was innocent. They reaped the rewards of Sheila's betrayal, so it was only fair that they paid the price for her downfall. I was at the office, poring over some design drafts, when someone I never expected showed up. The pink-haired girl who had egged everyone on last time. She hovered at my office door, a shadow of her former brash self. "Mr... Mr. Carter." I glanced up, giving her a nonchalant look. "What's up?"

My determination, my grit—that's what got me here. What I want is to rewrite my fate—and my family's—on my own terms. Last time, my biggest mistake was letting myself get tangled in the mess of these rich kids and their petty games. This time? I wasn't about to make the same mistake.

Raven sounded a little confused, and still looked embarrassed. Heather put her book on the table and pushed it in front of Raven. There was a small picture on the front, just like most of Raven's Braille books. The picture looked like a little blonde girl wearing a homemade Superman -- Supergirl, I suppose -- costume. The title was Robin's Great Adventures. At the bottom of the picture I could barely make out the words "A story by", then in larger letters "Raven Tipton".

"It's ordinary." "That's the same thing." --- The seventh book was different. Not a memoir — a children's book. About a garden, about a fig tree, about the dogs buried under its branches and the women who loved them. Beatriz's successor, Eva, was hesitant at first. "A children's book?" she said. "A book for everyone." --- I wrote about Orwell, the scruffy survivor. Pippin, the disaster with mismatched ears. Fig, the puppy who arrived in a crate. Oak, the quiet one, the watcher. And the women who buried them, who marked the stones, who never forgot.