Face Of Book Novels & Stories

She walked into the library, took one look at my face and sat down with the energy of someone who had already decided how this conversation was going. “Did something happen?,” she said smiling widely at me. “Good afternoon Rosa,” I said. “Don’t good afternoon me.” She leaned forward. “You have a look on your face.” “I always have a look on my face. It’s called having a face.” “Not this look.” She tilted her head. “This is the something happened look.” I kept my eyes on my book. “Oriana.” “Nothing happened Rosa.” “But almost.” I turned a page I hadn’t read.

They were all adjusted alphabetically. He then randomly picked a book. ‘If I had your Face – By Frances Cha’ He read the title. He opened the book. On the first page, there was her name and a date written. The date when she either got the book or started reading it. He flipped through the pages. She had underlined some context. Marked notes somewhere. Scribbled replies to some lines. He laughed to himself. There was this line she had highlighted, “In New York, you can talk to anyone about anything at any time and have a conversation so long you'll fall a little in love with that person, and then never see them again.”

I sit to read but I just didn't find it interesting, I returned it and pick another one, I opened it and began to flip the pages and think it's not my kind of book. I pick another one and try to flip it through and it fell from me, I was going to pick up the book when two pictures fell out from it. I pick the books and pictures and take a look at the pictures, I was shocked at the picture I saw and I checked the other and it was the same face, the same way he had smiled before asking us to have sex in the car that he had smiled in the picture. I try to think back to the face, the way we stood and talk, the way he stared at me after the sex and ask me never to do this with any man again.

She had to be careful with it in case the pages shattered on contact with her skin. She set the book down carefully on the floor and wiped the dust from the front. Immediately, she jumped in shock. There, on the cover, was the same image she’d seen on her grandma’s leather box, and in the Voynich manuscript. Only this time the strange face on the front of the book wasn’t so surreal—it was as clear as day. It was an image of Scarlet’s face.

"Well, it's... It's hard to explain, the book explains it all." "Is it interesting?" She asked looking at the book cover, it was of a young teenager holding a lamp in what looked to be a dark cave, a bat was hanging of his hands and an old witch was behind him. "It looks interesting," She muttered. "It is," He assured. She nodded her head with a small smile and placed her iPods in back, resting her head back against the car seats, she closed her eyes.

He adds. My gaze narrows at the book which seems like an ancient book. Bruce brings it closer to my face for me to get a proper look. And I don't fail to notice that there is no title written on it, so I'm starting to think he's trying to prank me or something.

"Mr Philip sent me to give this to you." "Thanks." I collected the book to inspect the front cover, while he showed off some dimples. The book had a raccoon as it's display photo. The raccoon looked thrilled to bits with both hands up and mouth open like it was shouting. The background was yellow, it had the words, 'furiosly happy' boldly written on it. Under the book title, there were word too that said, 'a funny book about terrible things' written in smaller font, while the author's name was Jenny Lawson.

She wasn't there; she didn't see it happen when I watched my shadow snap his neck in self-defense. "You’re not sure," I counter. "I am," she insists, her gaze steady and full of reassurance, almost making me feel foolish for fearing a book. Taking a deep breath, I finally open the book. It seems to anticipate my needs, flipping pages on its own until it stops at a peculiar drawing—a girl with long hair standing hands on hips, with her shadow beside her, rendered in dark charcoal as if to mirror her.

Damn them. Clearing my mind, I look at Emma and wait for some kind of response, a real response to my presence. Emma reads for a few more seconds, her face stoic, then she puts her bookmark in between the pages and closes the book with care. She gives the cover a small, secretive smile, making me wonder what she had just read. Then, finally, she raises her head to look at me... and surprise makes its way onto her face. What's with that kind of reaction? I'm clean and showered and definitely don't stink. I'm not ugly, at least I don't think, so what's the deal? "What?" I ask, frowning. I want to know why my face caused such surprise.

Growling I sit up then hold the book "What's your problem, I know you're not fake so why are you hiding " " am not" The moment the book spoke I quickly let it go but it didn't fall off my hand, it remained in the air. " you..... just.... speak" stammer I crawl backward on the bed "How is a book speaking" " what do you expect lady, you have been making so much noise am forced to wake up "Two eyes open, a mouth shape forms then a nose, the book blinks then exhales loudly " It feels great to be awake again, I thought they are no more innocent women for me to eat "