Dickinson Novels & Stories

He exhaled and twisted the knob, opening the door and stepping in without knocking. The place was pitch black dark and he wondered how any one could stay in such a place but then the demon who stayed in here was no ordinary demon, he was Master Krane. Liam flexed his wings which illuminated the place around where he stood slightly as the door closed shut but in the process of flexing his wings, he had knocked something over. The metal cage crashed down with a thud and Liam turned his head when he heard the hissing sound coming from that direction.

“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tunes without the words and never stops at all.” Emily Dickinson.

I do it two more times, telling myself to suck it up because sucking it up is what I do on a daily basis. I'm still standing frozen in one spot, hoping my mini-panic attack will go away when I spot something familiar. 1117. My locker number. I only glanced at it when Mrs. Stephens handed me my schedule. I'm weird about numbers. I can remember them like a photograph in my head but I totally suck at math. This number also happens to be Dad's birthday. November seventeenth. I see it everywhere. I almost always happen to look at the clock and find that it's 11:17. And now it's my locker number. Maybe the universe enjoys screwing with me.

(3:30 pm) Al_ 🥰: pick up your call, please. I'm worried. (3:35 pm) I smiled at the texts and twenty missed calls. Elektra_😜😈: you better not be laughing at my texts or hurting yourself. Consider my heart, you brute. (3:37 pm) Elektra: I found something major about Alcinder's missing wolf. Pick your call you despicable brat. I'm worried sick I sent her a text that I'm heading to Alcinder's place. She was one cynical girl I cherished. Alcinder moved out of his parent's place when he was nineteen.

Emery who clearly had too much to drink. I swear I have seen him turn every shade of color in the last few days, “Connelly, can you shut the fuck up? I’m on the verge of puking up my guts and the last thing I need to hear about is my best friends sex life.” I wanted to laugh but I was still a little ticked off about the blonde bimbo taking Dalton into his office and acting like she owned the place, “Who the hell was that Maxine girl with the awful attitude and clear as day crush on Dalton?” Nick and Con looked up at me and Nick took a sip of his coffee and cleared his throat, “She is one of the lead warriors that guards the border.” He glanced out of the side of his eye and I heard a thump

Dominic ran through the dense forest for what seemed like hours. His throat was dry and his mouth was parched. The men in armored trucks were closing in on him. He took one last step, but his feet got caught in a trap and he went flying into a pit. He felt around him; he could feel hands and bodies pressed up against him. With the help of the moonlight, he squinted for a better view. The pit was full of dead bodies. A sea of faces with eyes that stared into space. Decaying flesh was all around him... And suddenly, all he could smell was death, so much death.

Andrew felt powerless against him, thinking, "I can't do anything about Dickson!" Ten minutes later, there was still no call from Amanda to Dickson. Dickson resided in the Cecillia Villa in Boston, having returned to his previous residence after divorcing Amanda. The villa boasted luxury, facing the sea as the sole structure on the mountain. The mayor of the city occupied the villa on the left, while a high-ranking official of Finland inhabited the mansion on the right.

Every sob felt like it echoed off the walls, making it sound even louder. After there weren’t any tears left to cry, I stood up from the ground and surveyed the cell. In the right corner, there’s a pile of hay with a blanket on it. I would assume that is the bed, and in the left corner is a metal bucket with a reeking stench coming from it. I approach the bucket with much caution, covering my nose in the prosses. As I peek over the edge of the bucket, I could feel the vomit appearing in the back of my throat. I gagged, and luckily, I didn’t throw up. The bucket is used for a toilet. It is absolutely revolting. How could they just leave it here to rot? They are supposed to dispose of it.