Diary Of The Oxygen Theif Novels & Stories

"I couldn't find the remote, but I found all this extra crap in your drawer" "We can use them, then", he says nonchalantly. I- What? My jaw literally drops open. "Relax, Vox, take a joke", he says, flipping through the channels. I push all the clutter back into the drawer. And I find something interesting. A diary. Cool Shawn writes in a diary. Interesting. I know it's wrong, but I can't help it. I sneak the diary into my bag. He doesn't even notice as he's still looking for some football game.

By the time he got to the topmost floor, he was totally exhausted and was dripping with sweat like someone who had just had a shower. Without bothering to observe the the storey meant to home him for the next an hour, professor Ericson pulled his bag behind him and walked to the last room, and knocked on the door. A second later, the door flung open showing a student with a lot of tattoos. He had managed to smuggle them into the school. It wasn't Wilkes Milton. Definitely not.

A shiver of fear ran through me, my mind racing frantically for a reason. "Hide," Lucas breathed, pulling me and creeping behind a tall cabinet. We clung together in the shadows, the metal cool biting into my back. Someone entered the room, its darkness casting a creepy shadow from the dim light. I did my best not to breathe, hoping that they would not spot us. The creature moved over to a computer terminal and rushed over to it. The glow from the screen etched an ethereal light upon its features, the hard planes of their angles, their stern expression. There were minutes which crawled by like hours as we waited, a balled up twist of worry in my belly. Finally, the creature rose out of the c

All their earlier promises meant nothing then. -------------- Dear Diary… It is a lonely place, a dungeon, when you are locked up on your own and left alone too. I guess he has a home to return to. And I have no wolf to talk to now either. Just four walls to look at. If this is how things go, I am likely to go insane… ----------------

He answered anyway. “What do you want, Tate?” Jaxon snapped, not trying to hide his disdain. “There’s a courier guy walking toward you right now. Just read whatever he gives you,” Tate said and ended the call. Jaxon smirked when he saw the courier coming closer. The man handed him Kai’s old diary from college days, bowed, and left. “Strange,” Jaxon muttered. Jaxon flipped open the diary, his eyes catching a page dated: 2022 He read the words slowly, letting each sentence sink in.

Moving slowly, I slid my hand under my pillow and pulled out the old leather-bound diary. The weight of the book in my hands felt heavy, almost as if it were pulsing with dark secrets. I slipped out of bed, careful not to make a sound, and crept toward the bathroom. Once inside, I locked the door behind me and leaned against it, breathing heavily. The only light came from the dim bulb overhead. It was casting a soft glow over the room. I placed the diary on the bathroom sink. My fingers brushed over its worn cover. That strange symbol embossed on the front, a triangle with three circles inside, seemed to mock me.

Jackson uttered, stepping closer towards me. “Yes but I know when to give up trying to fight and believe it or not, I have,” I muttered, walking away as my heart raced. If Jackson could easily see through my act, it was only a matter of time till Kaelion found out. Without looking back, I hurried into my room and locked the door behind me. I then brought out a small old diary that I had earlier taken from the library in one of the boxes before Kaelion woke up. “The history of the Obsidian fang pack,” The cover of the diary read, further sparking my curiosity.

The geometry of an oversight. The desk lamp in Mira’s room was the only light left burning in the small apartment. Outside, the autumn wind rattled the loose window pane, casting erratic, shuddering shadows across the stacks of borrowed textbooks and photocopied municipal ledgers that cluttered her floor. Mira sat rigid in her chair, her eyes fixed on the silver terminal slip resting beside her keyboard. The polished metal surface didn't reflect the blue light of her laptop; it seemed to absorb it, the digital timestamp on its edge pulsing with a cold, rhythmic green glow.

The desk felt cold in my palms. My blouse hung shredded around my elbows. My skirt bunched around my waist, still twisted. My heels were gone-I didn't even know when. Nick dragged a hand down my back "Look at you. Still dripping" "I can't stop," I whispered. "You don't want to stop," Jake corrected. He leaned in, whispering filth in my ear., “You love being filled. You love how we use your body."

His fingers hovered above the cover without touching, as if the object might dissolve or bite or reveal itself as something other than what it appeared. "Lumira," he said, and his voice carried the rough edge he used when words threatened to fail him. "You need to see this." I knelt beside him, my burial silks pooling in the dust that had accumulated since the last student had occupied these rooms. The diary's cover was cracked, the leather dried by decades of neglect, the clasp rusted into a permanent closure that Austin had already forced. The pages inside were yellowed, the ink faded but legible, the handwriting of someone who had written in haste and secrecy and desperation.