Crossing Writing Novels & Stories

--- 11:25 AM — D Sector, Palehook Crossing The bridge was not new—but new-acknowledged. A weaving of polyroot crossing that curved but did not snap underfoot. Kids crossed it unhesitantly. The elders crossed it slowly, some for the first time in years. Elira crossed it carefully, hand tracing the balustrade. Caelan, on the opposite side, shouted, "Still certain about your weight?" "I'm counting on the threads," she shouted back, "and on the hands that bound them."

“Down at the crossing. Real trouble.” She followed, boots crunching grit, heartbeat surging at the prospect of a fresh adrenaline. The city had always run on simple principles—might, memory, and whoever was crazed enough to outlast the storm. But with each day under Carolina’s rule, the rules seemed less like scripture and more like a game that desperately needed breaking. The “crossing” was two blocks of no-man’s land where the old subway spat out into the surface. Briony waited by the crumbling mouth, one hand jammed in her pocket, the other clutching a battered radio against her shoulder.

It is not like he will be around much longer, as I have already unintentionally bridged him to his mate. That is correct, I make bridges. These are spiritual and magical bridges for others to cross to that which they sometimes want, need, or desire. I only found out a few weeks ago that I have this ability. Prior to that, I had thought I was cursed. You see, every time I get involved with someone, they find the woman they end up with. They break it off with me. Oftentimes, they just ghost me. It is rude and pathetic, but most people lack bravery and basic decency.

She crossed one of her legs over the other. "It's time for her to know the true definition of her daughter. I'll make her see through me whether she likes it or not." I chuckled delightfully, positively imagining the supposed successful outcome of Sally's idea.

The nerves in my body quietly tensed. Soon, a sleek black car pulled up at the building. Thomas's eyes lit up, and he eagerly waved his hand. "Babe!" Imogen stepped out, impeccably dressed in a cream suit, cradling an enormous bouquet of roses.

"The creek crossing?" "When there's a constraint point," she said. "Something that looks fine until the conditions change and suddenly it's the thing everything depends on. The creek crossing was our constraint point — we hadn't built the bridge well enough for real winter conditions." She looked at the document. "This window is the creek crossing for the expansion. Good work." He straightened slightly. Not pride — the specific quiet satisfaction of a wolf who has been seen accurately. She recognised it because she felt it herself, occasionally, and it was the best kind of satisfaction — not the loud kind but the kind that came from being understood.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ What choice would Izzy make when her two worlds finally collided?

I noticed the way he sat up straighter, I looked at the paper maybe I could also see what the both of them was seeing but this was just a short riddle , I wouldn’t even call it a letter or a note , just a riddle written on a paper “ Uhmmm..what are we supposed to be looking at ?” I asked scratching my back head . Sebastian pointed. “The handwriting.”. “Oh.” Sebastian exhaled “ Oh my goodness!” Anastasia rubbed her chin . “What are you two talking about?” I asked again Anastasia pointed at one of the letters. “The T.” I blinked. “The T?” “Yes.” I looked close, Sebastian leaned forward. “That crossing.” Then suddenly Anastasia nodded. “Yessss” “Can you guys , just say it ?”

When Nicholas returned to the rental house where I had lived, he stared straight at the pile of newspapers on the ground. The dust all over seemed to be telling him how much time had passed here, and that no one had ever been here during that time. "Astrid... No, you wouldn't die..." His voice trembled as he slowly reached out and lifted a corner of the newspaper. A small, dried bloodstain appeared beneath it. "Ah!" Nicholas's legs gave way as he fell to the ground. He no longer dared to lift the remaining newspapers. He seemed to have stopped breathing as he stared blankly without any color on his face. What he had been afraid of and had always refused to believe had come true.

Isolde pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek. “We’re family now. No need for apologies.” My ears flushed red. Under the host’s guidance, we began the wedding ceremony. When I finally took Isolde’s hand and walked onto the stage, my movements felt clumsy, as if my hands and feet weren’t quite mine. When it came time to recite our vows, I calmed. I knew, with certainty, that marrying Isolde and building a life together wasn’t something I resisted; it was something I quietly longed for.