Crossbody Pocketbook Novels & Stories

He carefully wrapped the canvas pieces together with strips of fabric he tore from his own clothes. His most precious find, however, was a cache of dried berries and seeds. He recognized some of them from his childhood – hardy plants that survived even the harshest conditions. These would offer a meager source of sustenance during his journey. He meticulously stored them in the pockets of his jacket and secured his metal bucket and canvas patches to his backpack, every piece of his scavenged hoard precious. He even managed to salvage a broken piece of mirror, reflecting only a distorted image, yet invaluable for checking his condition.

“Good. That works.” “You think?” “I know.” She closed the laptop. “Ditch the tote though.” I looked at the bag on my shoulder. “This is what I use.” “For groceries. Not lunch.” From the sideboard drawer, she drew out a slim black crossbody, as if she’d been expecting this moment. “This.” “When did you get this?” “Last week. Had a feeling.” She handed it to me. “You’re welcome.” I switched bags. And put my phone, wallet, and keys. I checked twice, then a third time, even though nothing had changed.

Dimitri said, and handed me another gift bag, a large one this time. Inside I found a brand new, dark purple book bag. It looked to be pretty large, and very sturdy. Stitched to the front, in white, was our pack symbol. “Thank you.” I said. “You’re welcome. It’s large enough, and strong enough to carry your books, and has a special pocket for your laptop. I know it’s not something grand, but you will need it.” Dimitri said with a smile. I nodded, and smiled. I put it back in the bag, along with the frames. Braxton took the bag from me, and put it in the back of the SUV for me.

and bailed out. The pungent scent of pot smoke wafted out of Mike’s truck as Brandt opened the door. A roach clip dangled from the rearview mirror, weighted with feathers and skinny strips of leather. He pushed aside food wrappers and empty beer cans until he found a small bright orange fanny pack. Since he’d forgotten to ask specifics about size and color, he unzipped the main compartment. His hand froze. It wasn’t the unopened package of condoms that snared his interest, but the hand-tooled leather wallet.

I pulled out my large weekender bag and began filling it with clothes, then realized I needed a smaller bag for my toiletries. I chose a random handbag which turned out to be the one I carried to the launch event three weeks ago. The bag was perfect for my purpose. It had multiple compartments to organize my various creams and makeup and it was sturdy enough to withstand being stuffed into a hospital locker. I took it down and opened it, turning it upside down to empty its contents on the rug. Some items fell out, like lipstick, a compact, breath mints, the event program and something else. I picked up the foreign item. It was a USB drive.

There was nowhere left to hide. He had to go. Now. Hobbling to his feet, his body a symphony of fresh agony, he began to search the body. No wallet. No phone. No ID. The clothes were plain, mundane. A phantom. But phantoms sometimes carried messages. In the front pocket of the man's tactical pants, his fingers brushed against something small and rectangular. He pulled it out. It was a flash drive. Smooth metal, plain except for one word etched in a sharp, modern font:

Another item was a peculiar fabric pouch that didn't stand out and seemed very basic in its design. When I picked up the pouch and looked inside it, I couldn't see the bottom of it clearly, and as I reached my hand in, I couldn't feel the bottom. I had over half my arm in before I felt the bottom of it, "What is this? Does it use the same magic you find on a carriage to enlarge the space inside?" "That's exactly right. These are normally used for storing a lot of items while you walk around." After he said that, I put it back and kept looking around the store. Towards the back, I found more crystals and among them was the high-rank mana accumulator I was looking for.

(And do they have trash cans here? Sadie steps out of the room wearing an oversized pink tee with the statement “cute but psycho” glitched across her chest and grey jogging pants. She runs straight to the drawer while putting her mask in her back pocket. She's sits down with her legs crossed in front of it, and runs her fingers through its contents. I decide to bring my ask down to my chin, feeling more of the fresh Earthy breeze pass through my nose sit on the bed without asking. Somehow, Sadie did not notice and instead chose specific notebooks, pens, papers, and small boxes then drop them inside another backpack, which has a doodle design. She stands up and walks over to the bookshelf to

she said before she left my room. I look at the purse. It is a small, clutch-style purse, crafted from soft lavender leather, adorned with subtle floral patterns embossed along its edges. It is beautiful and I like it. A dainty silver clasp secures its contents, while slender chain allows it to be carried gracefully on my shoulder if needed. Inside, the purse can only hold essentials. I put my lipstick, cellular phone, and my delicate handkerchief in and carefully arranged it to maintain the purse’s tidy appearance.

I whisper to Grant. “No, but you do.” I’m confused. “What? No I don’t. I left everything I own back in the penthouse.” Grant unclasps the plastic buckles on the backpack straps, which I had forgotten I was wearing, and pulls it into his lap. Then he unzips the back. There’s a jumble of different things inside. I see a passport, a cell phone, a bunch of plastic credit cards, some metal tools, some putty, what appears to be a switchblade knife –