Crossed Out Words Novels & Stories

“‘Reunion.’ Seven letters.” “Reunite,” I said, too fast. “REUNITE.” Grandma looked between us with an expression that was not remotely subtle. “What a lovely word.” “Grandma,” Nate said flatly, and I shut my eyes tightly. “What? It’s a crossword clue.” He wrote it in. His knee bumped mine under the bed tray when he shifted in the chair, and he didn’t move it away. I could feel the warmth of it through the fabric of my dress, solid and distracting, and I didn’t move mine away either.

I just never noticed it before. I looked at those words for a long time. Then I deleted the entire chat. Not out of anger. Just because I no longer needed it.

He was frightened to see such a scary look on his boss' face when he started to read the words the letter had. I'm sorry, Elian. I feel like we don't belong together. We are not the same. I want to find my happiness and I wish you do the same for yourself. Stop trying to look for me. By the time you receive this letter, I would have been already gone from here. "Why?" His gaze was straight and enough to make someone crumbled to ground. The letter in his hands crinkled. The asistan bit his lips and slightly shook his head. It was not the poor paper's fault. Everyday, thousands and millions of trees cit down just to make this thin white piece.

I replied with confidence but only just to provoke him. "Oooh, you're still as bold as ever even when you're left with only the bones and no flesh." He said, leaning back on his desk. He took a lusty look at me from head to toe, biting his mouth. It was as if he already undressed me but with his eyes. Even when you loose a game, just make sure to dress like the winner, as confident and sexy as ever, only then you can get in the nerves of your opponent, and that was exactly what I did.

Attached to his page is a note that says “Recently lost a sibling. Reserved, Strong potential, Watchful.” The word “Watchful” jumps at me from the pages. He noticed thing, details. People. My curiosity stirs even more and a voice inside whispers to look closer. This is my cue to shut the files and pace the length of my small apartment. I should keep my head down. None of this concerns me and I have to not make it any of my business. As I scrub my hands through my hair a part of me knows in more ways than one that I will royally screw this up.

The opening was a promotional video of a six-star hotel in the Madiles, but it was edited with a depressing black-and-white filter and accompanied by sad music. The caption emerged. [The boss's empty promise sure looks tempting.] The scene switched to Cynthia's workstation, where a regular form was zoomed in on. The caption that followed wrote: [Unfortunately, I am just an employee who wants to get off work in peace.] Then came a close-up of her on the verge of tears, captioned: [I was told to use my precious weekend to attend a large group performance. I am speechless.] She cleverly twisted the concept of "extra paid leave" into "using her weekend."

The crib was empty, and everything was gone. Even our wedding portrait had been taken down. The room held nothing of mine except the faint trace of my scent still lingering on the pillow. Every sign that I had ever existed in this house had been erased. I had been desperate enough to wipe away every last trace, to leave him with nothing to hold onto. Jasper slid down the side of the bed and crumpled onto the floor, clutching the pillow to his chest. His shoulders shook violently, and a single hot tear rolled down his face.

x 2 + (a+b)x + AB = (x + a)(x + b) –100 . . . . . –20120, –456, –21423, –23, –98, –1223, –23, –34 . . . Chaos surrounded me. I considered the world of science and physics. On paper, when a number was not needed or was incorrect, it would simply be erased. I needed to construct my own mental eraser, to mentally rub out all the numbers that surrounded me. The following day I tried out my new solution. I focused on erasing all the numbers around me. Slowly they were wiped away by my mind’s eraser. Number after number disappeared until the whole school was

I finally ask when I get a chance to get a word in around CeCe’s account of art class when the troublemaker Bradley tried to eat his macaroni necklace. “In the kitchen making cookies. She said I could decorate some with sparkles!” CeCe had been corrected more than once that it was called sprinkles, but in her world most things were sparkly, and I didn’t bother to correct her now. Besides Dad found it cute, her misuse of words and mispronunciation, but as a former newspaper editor, Mom still tried to steer my little sister in the right grammar direction.