Bridge To Terabithia Audiobook Novels & Stories

It was a bridge between the silence of the past and the roar of the present. ​"Now," Tobi whispered, looking up at the stars that were finally piercing through the dust. "The world is awake. And I think... I think it can finally hear me."

The truck tires screeched on the edge of the abyss, spitting gravel into the dark void below. I slammed on the brakes, the metal frame groaning as we skidded to a halt inches from the broken bridge. Behind us, the forest was screaming with the sound of the Council’s pursuit, but inside the cabin, the air was suffocatingly hot.

**Kael's Point of View The change in the pack didn't happen all at once. It was a slow, quiet thaw, like the first warm breath of spring on a frozen landscape. People told each other about what happened with Liana, and the story grew softer with each telling. *The Bridge made her tears stop hurting. It wasn't a story of judgment; it was one of comfort.

The lake in front of me felt so peaceful I wish I deserved the same peace My feet started moving towards the water It felt like the lake was calling for me Asking me to touch and feel it's serenity As me body entered the cold water my disturbed mind calmed down It's coldness made me numb Anf it felt good Like I was finally getting punished for what I did to her I stepped further Slowly I felt my face going underwater There was a heaviness under the water My eyes body all felt heavy I looked around to see long plants and mosses in the deep Blue colour prevailed around me and I wished to stay here I couldn't hold my breath any longer and my lungs were ready to explode but still I wanted to be

"There are voices of people that linger when their lives are unjustly taken from this earth," Crystal said. "Voices of blood, and people who can't get justice for themselves. These voices belong to the souls of the dead, and the innocent. They can haunt you, torment you, and even try to kill you if they are strong enough. They are like air. They can't be seen. They can't be touched. They can be felt, but mostly through one's hearing. They glide in the air. The strong wind can stop them, and so can fire. Nature doesn't necessarily stop them, but anything too loud for you to hear them can temporarily stop them. And that is why they are called whispers.

The book was about a bear and a rabbit who were trying to determine which of them could stay awake longer. He read it with the same attention he gave to surgical literature. I was at the drafting table with my back partly toward him and I kept my eyes on the page in front of me, the developmental series sketches, but I was not drawing. I was listening to Tristan Cross read a picture book about a bear and a rabbit in the specific tone he used for things that required doing correctly. After the first book he set it down and picked up the second. This one was about a small girl who was afraid of thunder and the grandmother who told her the thunder was just the sky moving furniture around.

Julian slammed his hand onto the console. The world went Black. But in the darkness, a single, analog sound began to play. Hiss. Click. Whir. It was the 1977 Cassette Tape. And then, a new voice spoke—a voice that was deep, ancient, and sounded like it was coming from Inside your own head. "Chapter 146: The Reader’s Audit. Warning: By continuing to read, you are consenting to a Physical Transfer of Assets. Please check your pulse. Does it feel... Digital?"

I tilt her chin with a finger and make her look at the river. “Listen,” I say. The bridge hums again, east, not south, and the sound isn’t mine. It’s the house, and the singer, and the rod-priest tapping iron ash into a circle with documents and love and spite. It’s a wolf with a new tattoo telling a door that births belong here, not anywhere else. It’s godparents signing with a spoon and a storm. “Do you hear their yes?” I ask Josie. “I hear posturing.” She scowls.

For a second, I’m tempted, but then another wave of heat erupts in my chest, and I lose my nerve. “Tell me about the other books,” I say instead. “The other books?” I nod. And as I tuck my knees to my chest and wind my free arm around my knees, breathing through the stuffiness that’s getting more unbearable by the minute, I listen to the most garbled plot summaries I’ve ever heard in my entire life. “Okay. See, there’s this one with a man and his nephew. And they journey to the center of the earth. And there are dinosaurs. And a tornado? Shit—” The brow furrows again. “It might have been a tsunami. Something like that.”

Aurelia’s POV The rope bridge appeared out of nowhere, and my heart sank. The bridge stretched across a yawning abyss, its wooden planks uneven and dark with age. Below it, nothing but darkness and jagged rocks waited, the wind rising from it in cold, hungry gusts that made my stomach twist. Behind us, the forest exploded with movement. Snarls. Footsteps. The sharp crack of branches snapping under reckless weight. The rogues were close. “We’re not going to make it,” I whispered, my voice shaking as I stared at the bridge. My legs refused to move, rooted in terror.