Crash & Burn Book Novels & Stories

"In that case, I think the pizza can wait." End of Book One: Incendiary

"This is honest in ways that might make some activists uncomfortable. You're essentially saying burnout is inevitable if you don't prioritize self-care." "Because it is inevitable. I watched you nearly burn out during campaigns, legislative sessions, foundation leadership. The only reason any of us survived was support systems forcing us to take breaks." "Should I have retired earlier? Before six years in legislature?" "Only you can answer that. But Sofia, there's no virtue in destroying yourself for the cause. Morrison tried to destroy you externally. Don't finish the job internally through burnout." The memoir took two years to complete. Published on my fifty-second birthday, it became une

But when he looked up, hundreds of other books were lifting and floating from the shelves, their pages bleeding and whispering her name. “Camela. Camela. Camela.” Her head spun, and her chest rose and fell heavily. “They want me…” Vincent held her tightly against him, his flame blazing so bright enough it illuminated the shelves like daylight. “Then they’ll have to burn for it,” he said. He swung his arm through the air, sending fire in a blazing arc that struck the shelves. The books shrieked, blood hissed, and their pages curled black, turning ash. But for every book that he burned, ten more emerged from the shadows. They surged forward, bleeding words that crawled across the floor and wra

Saturday rolled around, and as usual, I bought some groceries and headed over to visit my mother-in-law, Margaret Flint. But the moment I entered her apartment complex, I saw a thick black smoke billowing up. My heart lurched, and I dashed toward her building. A crowd had already gathered outside. Her neighbor, Mrs. Zeller, spotted me and grabbed my arm. "Oh, my goodness, Margaret's still inside! Hurry and call Joshua so he can bring his crew to put out the fire!"

The reception hall was in shambles, and banners demanding repayment hung everywhere. I stood at the street corner, staring at the building until my eyes burned. From the age of 25 to 35, I had poured my youth, my prime years, into this place and its owner. I had pulled it back from the edge of bankruptcy, cleared its debts, and grown its revenue to nearly a billion dollars a year, preparing it for an IPO. In this very building, I had vowed to dedicate my life to it, to guard its owner forever. Yet in the end, it had all collapsed back to the edge of ruin, and both its owner and I were left as nothing but history.