Burned Books Novels & Stories

Sophia The orphanage retained the scent of smoke. It clung to the walls, to the furniture, to the air that I inhaled, like a reminder of what had happened. I stood in the remains of what had been the children's library, my fists clenched at my hips. The bookshelves were burnt half-way, some scattered on the floor, their cracked and blackened spines gleaming. Ash swirled in the sun through the shattered windows, coating the desecrated remains of the world I'd built for them.

Connor said hesitantly, "I just got an email. Someone claims to have a lead about the fire three years ago. They want us to go to the site." "Let's go." Samantha didn't hesitate. "Alright," he nodded. "I'll have the driver get the car." He took her hand, holding it tightly. Her fingers were ice-cold today. His palms were warm, yet no matter how tightly he held her, they never warmed up. The site of the fire had long since become a ruin—an abandoned building, still bearing the blackened marks of smoke on its walls. Inside, it was choked with dust.

"This was the first truth we ever told each other." A gust of wind howls through the open balcony door, carrying the scent of rain and something darker “Gasoline.” We look down in unison. Twenty stories below, a bonfire rages in a Blackstone-branded dumpster. Flames lick at shredded documents, their embers swirling upward like reverse snowfall. Someone's burning the archives. “Good.” The nondescript downtown office smells of fresh paint and possibility. Lillian grins from her wheelchair, slapping a label on a cardboard box with enough force to make her IV pole rattle:

WREN'S POV I sprinted immediately the class was over, stumbling between equally impatient students. I ran into the safest place I could find. The library. Going deeper into the back, I found myself slouched on a dusty bookshelf. My legs still trembled from class. My thighs still clenched involuntarily every time I replayed Kai’s voice in my head. The way he whispered, the heat behind his gaze, the cocky smirk that made my stomach flip inside out. I needed to breathe.

If she saw me zoning out one more time, she’d definitely start bugging me. We kept walking, and Veronica was her usual chatty self, typical Veronica, always rambling about milk tea and romance novels. She can stay up all night reading those love stories, but when it comes to our class textbooks? She’s already yawning by the first page. We were already inside the milk tea shop, I had my drink in hand, but Veronica was still at the counter, arguing with the server about the quality of the sugar used. A few more minutes passed before she finally wrapped things up and marched straight over to the table where I was sitting.

She wrote: "My loving Papa, I have safely arrived, and Rome is big and exciting! The buildings of the Roman Forum and the Imperial Palace are vast. Uncle Titus let me visit his library the first day I arrived. I was so happy to view all the great works of the Ancient Greek poets and philosophers. Of course, he has the writings of the Roman men throughout the century. The orations of Cicero, the sagas of Ovid, and so many others that I cannot remember all their names! I was given a tutor, a man, but he's not like my Jessa. Please convey how much I miss her, and I search for her litter every day! I'm not sad in Rome, Papa. I miss you and Jessa immensely, and Rome is incomplete with you both! B

“So you burn with what you loved.” When I opened my eyes, I was back on the floor of our burning den. This time, I pressed wet moss to my muzzle and dialed the public emergency channel. Let him choose her again. But in front of everyone. The roof beam fell at minute three. Wood cracked across my shoulder—bone snapped, I screamed, smoke swallowed the sound. Another beam caught my thighs. Blood pooled fast, soaking the nest I’d built for her. My daughter—still safe in my womb, five months along—kicked once, weak, then went still.

The ending created by silly words lost its weight at this point. I hovered above the bookmark sign at the top right corner of the screen before clicking on it. The menu popped up, and I chose to delete the book from my homepage. A notification popped up at the center of the screen. [Are you sure you want to delete the book? This process is irreversible.] I clicked confirm. The progress bar completed in a flash, and the book vanished without a trace from my homepage. Ding! My phone lit up. I received a text. [Processing complete. You have received 10,000,000 dollars into your bank account for completing the S-Rank mission!]

"If that's what you need to do, then I'm here with you." Together, we gathered the romance novels, piling them up in the center of the room. The weight of their pages felt heavy in my hands, a physical representation of the weight they had placed on my heart. I struck a match, watching as the flame danced to life, its glow illuminating the truth I had been avoiding. As the fire consumed the books, I felt a sense of liberation wash over me. The crackling flames devoured the tales of love and passion, leaving behind only ashes and smoke. It was a symbolic release, a declaration of my independence from the false narratives that had held me captive.

"She's your wife? Could've fooled me—I thought she was your worst enemy. "You tore the skin off her body while she had third-degree burns. What, were you hoping she and the baby wouldn't survive? You poured a whole bottle of liquor down her throat. Tell me, which is worse? "Stomach pumping, a transfusion, or a forced miscarriage? Honestly, I'm starting to suspect attempted murder and identity fraud." Blood bags were rushed into the OR, one after another. Nearly every drop of blood in my body had to be replaced.