Cut It Off Book Novels & Stories

"Don't contact me anymore, Hubert. You're right. Your family wanted you to stay in Jethroville, so just stay put there. "As for my parents, since they think I have a bright future ahead, they can go ahead and keep thinking that. "I don't need parents, and I don't need that so-called family. From the moment I sold the apartment, Kathleen Holloway became an orphan. "Don't text me again." I tapped the send button, then blocked that number and powered off my phone. The sunlight outside the window was just right, filtering through the leaves and scattering patches of light across the room. I opened the textbook on my desk and turned my attention to it.

she handed the book back to me as if to rid herself of it. "It's stupid. Everyone has a different journey on this Earth so the advice that's listed it's useless," I found myself trying to put the book back on the shelf but I still couldn't reach. "Ren honey, put the book on there," there was this silver rectangular prism that stood right below my waist. I placed the book on its surface and it immediately vanished from the platform.

Instinctively, my hand rested on the hilt of my sword as I stepped beside him. He picked up the first book on the stack: The Compendium of the First Blood. It was a book so old its pages were made of cured vellum that should have lasted ten thousand years. I watched as he opened it and gasped. Cold rushed through my veins—the book was mutilated. "This is the chapter about the ancient evils," Orion commented as he flipped the pages. It seemed like something, or someone, had reached into the book and torn off the pages with claws. I suppressed the anger bubbling to the surface at such damage done to something so historical.

He pulled the trembling Sally tighter into his arms and said to his assistant, "Turn off the feed. That woman's guts are all over the floor. I don't want it to frighten Sally." To take revenge for not getting the ransom, the abductors had someone drag me to the wedding venue and shoved me off the second floor. My once slightly bulging belly had long been emptied, slashed open in a cross, and my insides spilled to the floor. My face lay pressed against the floor. When my eyes met Quilton's, his face turned ashen. It was as if his soul had just left his body. Right before I lost consciousness, I heard someone shouting wildly beside my ear.

After two days of high temperatures and intense boredom, he remembered the three books. Sam pulled out the one with the Mummy on the cover, because it looked the most innocuous. It was entitled the Ninth Pan Book of Horror Stories. He wasn’t the least bit prepared for what he found inside. The first three stories involved emasculation, murder and burning at the stake. In his fevered state Sam felt he was not only watching the characters’ suffering, he was experiencing it along with them. He flung the book at the wall and then hid it again, wishing he could burn it like Jinnot, the young girl in the third story who was burned alive.

"You know this book?" Sam answered, "My grandfather is an expert on history, so I picked up a bit from him. If I'm not mistaken, the printed editions after 2010 had two historical chapters removed, but I believe there was another round of cuts before that too?" Upon hearing this, Lionel's eyes lit up. "Yes, not just once. This book has undergone three rounds of cuts! The most recent edit was the one you mentioned in 2010 and 2004 before that. "I'm not entirely sure when the first cut was made, but I remember there were 36 historical chapters when I first read this book as a child. The edition I have with me right now is from before the second cut, with 30 historical chapters.

A smile that had the Smith women swooning and had Claire rolling her eyes with disinterest. "I read when I get time" Only thing I read was fire manuals and a daily magazine on how to grill your meat right. Nothing more. "Really? Well I guess we have our man. How about you start us off Mr Cutler?" Claire challenged. I looked at the book's cover. Shameless they called it. More like trying to write porn on pages if anyone asked me. I had frisked the pages. Roughly and every page had a sex scene about the female lead getting stretched and filled with—

“As long as you remember why you came back.” I reached for the new bundle and unwrapped it, my excitement returning. The familiar scent of old parchment filled the air as I flipped through the worn pages. But my smile disappeared when I spotted something strange. “Ingrid…” I murmured, holding one of the books up. “This one’s also damaged again.” She leaned over, and her brows furrowed. “What?” Pages were missing yet again!. Not torn from the spine like yesterday's own, but sliced out cleanly. Precise. Intentional.

I said. I lifted the pen. Instead of writing new text, I drew a single, firm line straight through the paragraph. Ink—my ink—cut across the Game’s, black slashing through neat letters. The page shuddered. The entire book did. Its spine pulsed once in my hand like a living thing. On the line beneath, where the system had queued options for alternative “tragedy modes,” space opened. I wrote, in all caps: TO BE CONTINUED.

My daughter, Lily, was hit and dragged for two whole miles by a drunk driver. I rushed her blood-drenched body into the emergency room. While the doctors saved her, I collapsed onto the floor in the hallway. With the last ounce of strength left in my body, I sent a text to my husband, Howard. [Lily is in critical condition. Get to the hospital now!] A few seconds later, my phone chimed with a reply. [Stay safe. I’ll be over as soon as I wrap things up here.]