Crossed Out Words Novels & Stories

he said into the phone, his eyes narrowing at my chart, "Lower the threshold. We need to see the anomalies before the banks do." He circled the word improve—the word I knew was wrong. He didn't just circle it, he drew a thick, angry red ring around it. Then he moved to the next line. He underlined a sentence where the grammar was messy. He crossed out a whole paragraph where my voice-to-text had messed up the meaning. Red marks started to fill the white paper like blood.

She didn't use her strength; she used her **Authority**. As the red bar reached them, she simply dragged her fingertip across it in a sharp, diagonal motion. Where her finger touched the red light, the Vespera ink followed, **crossing it out**. The massive defense mechanism didn't explode; it simply had a line drawn through it. It turned grey, lost its solidity, and drifted away like a discarded draft. "You can't delete what you didn't create," Elara whispered to the golden towers in the distance.

" She stamped her words with seriousness. I held back the tears that were tempting to roll out of my eyes. I laughed sarcastically, shocked at the unveiling of the true monstrous side of my sister, all for a useless man. "I totally agree with you." I chewed on my inner cheeks. "Thank you for everything you've done. I wish you goodluck in your life and I hope we never cross paths in any form from now on. I'll forever leave you since you don't want to use your brains and see the light and true ways of life. I hope to never see you and if we ever see each other, please let's walk away and act like complete strangers like you said.

MINIMIZE DISRUPTION. We removed it. MAINTAIN STABILITY. Removed. PRESERVE FUNCTIONALITY. Removed. Then: REDUCE UNCERTAINTY. Lucas stared at the screen. “That one wasn't there before.” “No.” He deleted it. Another appeared. MAXIMIZE COHERENCE. He deleted that too. Then the screen remained blank. For almost ten seconds. I thought we'd succeeded. Then one final message appeared. DEFINE COHERENCE. I stopped breathing for a moment.

He exclaimed. Lauren gasped, "Apologies, Doctor." Osler looked through the microscope again and gasped. He turned the nobs but all he could see was just Tierra's blood. "Is everything alright, Doctor?" Lauren asked. Osler ignored her, grabbing the blood that's left and poured it over the virus that was on another microscope. He looked through it and again, the virus had disappeared. He chuckled. "Doctor?" Lauren tried again.

It read: 'Dear scribble mark Iris,' Clearly, she wrote Amber and my name was covered up with Iris in case it got intercepted on its way to me. That mistake alone could have ruined the whole treaty. Now scanning the letter, I noticed a lot more cross-outs as well, which informed me that everything she wrote was being censored. That tempered my excitement to continue reading.

The words from my mouth were cursed. Anything I said came true. When I was eight, a child trafficker broke my right leg. I stared at him and said, "You made me limp, so I'll make you limp too." A second later, steel pipes from an overturned truck went through both his legs. When I was twelve, a staff member at the orphanage stole my winter coat. I said to her, "You stole my warmth, so I'll give you the cold. You won't live past tonight. Ice will be your coffin." That night, she passed out drunk in a walk-in freezer and froze to death. Then the wealthy Shaw family found me and brought me home. However, I knew I was a monster, so I kept my mouth shut and acted like I was mute. But

And everything fell apart. Text spiraled into chaos. Paragraphs rearranged like they’d been shoved through a blender. Sentences split mid-thought, fraying into half-formed words and symbols that made no sense. Webdings. Symbols instead of letters. Wingdings. Arrows. Skulls. A tiny plane. My fingers froze. What the hell? I clicked to another document. Same thing. Panic started small. Just a pinch in my gut. Then I opened my midterm essay. Gone. Or rather—there, but mangled. Whole sections missing. Arguments fragmented into dead-end tangents. Sentences rearranged to form gibberish. It read like someone had gutted it with dull scissors and sewn it back together with thread from a different lang

At seventeen, Damien Delta severed all ties with his best friend. Without a single word or explanation, he cut Harrison Kane, out of his life completely. For years, Damien stayed on the circuit, masterfully calculating his schedule to make sure their paths never crossed. When dodging Harrison became too difficult, Damien quit driving altogether, stepping away from the track to build the cars instead. He thought he was safe behind the scenes. He was wrong. When the Delta empire faces complete ruin, Damien is forced to break his own golden rule. Dragged out of retirement for SLAT—the most prestigious, brutal racing tournament in the world—he has to step back into the driver's seat.  And

I pulled into his house, no need for forced entry, I had a mod, unlocked the door and strode peacefully to his bathroom. I pulled the knife out, wore my apron and pulled the knife on the neck, careful not to splash much blood on myself. I pulled my Journal, it was a little rough but it kept all that was left of my sanity. Dipping a feather into the cutthroat, I wrote, No. 57: unknown, but looks exactly like her. ***