Eight Years Novels & Stories

That was the only part of essay writing she scored higher in than Janet. Speaking of Janet, she just loved hearing about all the adventures she had encountered with over the weekend, to her best friend, sex wasn't a big deal. From final year boys in university to the SS3 boys she called lame, she did them all. Na smalls, she would grin, before quoting her signature sentence, 'Being 18 has its perks'.

On what should have been our wedding day—for the eighth time—Luca Romano was called away yet again by his childhood sweetheart, Vivian Marino. I didn't argue or make a scene. I even smiled and wished them well. Everyone stared at me in shock as I calmly announced that the wedding was canceled. No one knew I had been reborn. In my previous life, I instinctively grabbed Luca and tried to stop him. After hesitating for a moment, he stayed and went through with the wedding. But Vivian was heartbroken. In a fit of despair, she agreed to a marriage alliance in Moscow, only to die in a car accident on the way there. From that day on, Luca hated me. I was still his Donna, seemingly blessed with the

Ryder looked at the ceiling. He thought. He looked at his notebook. He wrote a number. He turned the notebook toward Nova. She read it. She looked at Jax. He read it. The kitchen was completely still. The number Ryder had written was not seven. It was not eleven. It was considerably larger than either. “Eight hundred years,” Blake said. He had apparently been listening the whole time. He was still drinking his orange juice. “A lot can happen in eight hundred years.” He said it the way he said everything — directly, without drama, as an obvious truth that the room had apparently needed someone to state.

For the first time in eight years, the past loosened its grip. Not gone. But finally understood. And maybe, just maybe, ready to be left behind.

a little hooligan echoed. At this time, Eleanor was only about seven or eight years old, and even though her face was dirty, it was not hard to see her original delicacy. She rolled her eyes and snorted, “What do you mean, hanging out with other men? That’s my little brother! That’s a boy, a boy!” She repeated it, panting, “The two of you are eighteen, and I am only eight! I don’t even know what I like or not! Besides, there’s a ten-year age difference between us — an old cow eats young grass!”

"Christine, don't leave me. I know I was wrong. I realized it too late. Let me love you. Give me a chance to make things right." But I stayed still, unmoved. "It's too late. I'm tired." His brows furrowed as he stepped closer. "Eight years ago, you crawled into my bed, got pregnant, and married me. And now you want to walk away? Is this some kind of push-and-pull game?" I stared at him in disbelief. I'd thought he finally understood. But the way he saw me… was still just as selfish as ever.

Dad watched in silence, then lifted his glass and whispered to the empty place, "Danny, happy new year." Joe and Lyra followed in unison, "Danny, happy new year." Outside, the fireworks bloomed again, lighting the sky with the same brilliance and joy as last year. Only I was gone forever. That snow at the rest stop had frozen an eight-year-old me to death—and with me, it had frozen a family's heart. Some mistakes could be mended, some wounds forgiven, but some losses remained forever. Melted snow never returned to its first shape, and a vanished life never returned to those who had loved it.

she said and I smiled as I nodded slowly. "Me too" I replied with a sad smile. "How's school?!" I asked. "School is good, I'm taking some special self-defense classes" she added excitedly. "I hope it's not strenuous," I asked. "I could ask Auntie Katie to cancel!" I added. "What am I Eight?!" "I'm in the university for crying out loud," she said and I laughed. "I'm sorry I didn't realize you were that old already" "Well now you know, and I can take care of myself"

I asked him for confirmation. “No, ma’am. I am Eight. I turned three days ago. And now I am going to miss my best friend’s birthday. She and the mister that came to visit us were going to bake a cake and he was bringing ice cream to celebrate.” Matus said, lighting up, talking about his time back at the orphanage. Before, sadness clouded his facial features again. “Umm, Matus?” I began, wanting to ask if he was sane. “Matus, how is it that you look so much older than eight?” I asked him in the most warm, sweet voice I could muster.

Eighteen is a special birthday for many. My eighteenth birthday is special for different reasons than one would think. Eighteen signifies adulthood, but I’m not so sure adulthood is important to an immortal. It’s not even that I have all the time in the world to grow up. Ever since I started going on missions with my dad at fourteen, I’ve grown up. When you learn to reap souls, and one of your grandfathers is Death, well, you grow up on faster.