Famous Last Words The Book Novels & Stories

I glanced at the last two chances for forgiveness I was holding onto and finally spoke, "Alright, thanks, professor." Just then, Walter walked in. "Who were you talking to? The professor?" he inquired, curiosity in his eyes. He dropped a bag on the table, the contents hidden from view. I ended the call and faced him, trying to keep my voice even. "Nothing important, just some questions." Walter's frown deepened, his gaze probing. "What kind of questions? It's pretty late for that, isn't it?" I met his gaze, my own brows knitting together. "Just about an experiment, nothing to worry about."

"Jessica, do your best out there. Don't make our unit look bad." I saluted him. "I won't let you down, sir!" "Alright, get going." Mr. Hall waved me off, sounding almost annoyed. As I turned away, I caught a glimpse. The veteran who had never cried on the battlefield was quietly wiping his face as he looked to the side. – That night, Samson and Celia came home with a bunch of friends. The house was quiet and dark, and Samson was already getting irritated. When he turned on the light and saw the table covered with food, his mood finally softened.

I don’t know whether this will open their eyes or not, but one thing I know for sure—I’m walking away with my head held high, my dignity intact, and my heart guarded with walls so high, it would never crumble for anyone. Not again. I turn to look at the man I have loved for almost a decade. “This is also my farewell gift to you, Damon. I hope it’s to your liking,” I mumble under my breath, but Damon probably hears some of it. He sharply turns to me, even though he can’t see me in the dark. He tries to look for me. “What was that? What do you mean? Elara! Answer me.” I don’t. There’s nothing left to say anyway.1

"He's an incredible writer. He let Pat read a couple of his short stories, and she gave them to me. They were real dark, but beautiful. One was about what goes on in the space between moments of time. It was called 'The Second Hand.' He had this character who suddenly begins to live between the moments, and finds that there is more going on there than in normal time." "Sounds interesting. What made the story dark?" "The guy was in the last hour of his life. But it took him a year to live it." "Did the guy know it was his last hour?" Ray hesitates. He must know Seymour is not well. "I don't know, Lara." He has not used my name before. "Call me Sita," I say, surprising myself. He raises an eye

Thе day has соmе whеn I don’t knоw іf my ѕсrеаmѕ аrе rеаl or juѕt in mу hеаd. Tо thе реrѕоn whо fіndѕ thіѕ book: I аm ѕоrrу. I am сеrtаіn thіѕ іѕ mу lаѕt entry. Thеrе is nоthіng mоrе tо ѕау.

"Mr. Smith, do you know something?" Captain Stone also immediately turned to the butler. "What do you know?" Mr. Smith bit his lip and explained hesitatingly, "On the day when the previous madam was to donate her blood, Ms. Sydney quietly sought out the doctor. I happened to be passing by and heard them talking about drawing blood, and I also heard Ms. Sydney say that it was Mr. Hawthorne's intention, and that she would give the doctor 500 thousand dollars after it was done.

The edges were charred, the cover stained with water and old blood. "I found this in Roshan’s tent. After the tribunal. After everyone fled." He held it out to me. "It has your name in it. Not 'The Traveler'. Not 'The Ghost'. Just Elma." The Words of the Dead I took the book. The leather felt warm, or perhaps that was just my imagination. I retreated into the workshop, Harlan following silently. I sat on a workbench, the smell of sawdust and linseed oil surrounding me, and opened the first page.

This is the section filled with books that will serve as a solution to one's disastrous life battle. I almost lost to the sight of it that almost reach the highest roof. The man behind me said with a husky yet awed-filled voice, “You're right. It was the classic brought upon the battle of oneself. It was written by the very known...” His voice disrupted by his emotion that suddenly flared. His silence and deep breathing was something I thought as a kind of reminisce for something so dare to him. Suddenly my mind flickered, show a devastating scene. “What...” I gasped, step back with my weakened knees. My mind so strange, and it was so far to a possibly acceptable nature. It give me the taste

Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters appearing in this work are a work of fiction and only a product of my imagination. Enjoy reading! ------ Did you ever wonder when will be your last day living in this world? What will be the last word you will say to your loved ones, who will be the last person that you will see at your last moment. It's either a doctor or a person who will bring an end to you?

No daylight, no damn ventilation, just me, four walls, and the lingering scent of piss and betrayal. I wasn’t chained up like some criminal. No, they wanted me alive enough to bleed slowly. I clenched my jaw, as my thoughts drifted somewhere else with blood crusted at the corner of my mouth, the metallic taste making me growl. The only thing ringing in my head louder than the news broadcast was one word: Alessia and The White Book. That file was my damn insurance policy and my last resort to destroy everything that existed in the Mafia Family. A powerful ledger so vile, so goddamn explosive it would make the FBI piss their pants and make the Mafia run for cover.