Folding Pages In A Book Novels & Stories

she yelled back, hurriedly trying to put the rest of the books away. Her finger accidentally hit the hard wood of the shelf, and she whimpered, dropping the odd black book onto the floor. She sighed in frustration and bent down to pick it up. She noticed that the pages inside the unusual-looking book were not properly aligned like normal pages. Instead, they were held together by a loose thread along the edge. Her brow wrinkled in concentration. What will I do with these now? I have no idea what order the pages were in. She picked it up anyway and noticed that the writing on the pages was handwritten.

“Sure.” Lucette pulled out the supplies from her backpack and scooted the chair closer to the bed so she could use it like a table. She placed a sheet of paper in front of her and another across Robby’s lap, and then propped the book on origami at the foot of the bed, the diagram splayed. “Okay,” she said, taking the paper in her hands. “We start out folding a diagonal so it makes a triangle. Then unfold it again.” The corners of Robby’s lips quivered, and she figured he was trying to frown. “What’s the point of folding it if we’re just going to unfold it again?”

**15 Years Ago** His Pov: I flip through the crumpled, half-burned pages of the only thing I have left—the only thing she couldn’t destroy. My fingers trace the torn edges carefully, like they’re made of glass, like they’ll fall apart if I hold them too tight. The paper is stained, corners smudged, some pages singed at the ends. But it’s still here. It's my favourite book. The only one I could save.

He would be totally shocked if Hans finished reading those 8 books in just a short amount of time. Hans put down the book he was currently reading and confusedly asked, “Which books are you referring to?” Anthony pointed at the 8 books piled in shock. But what surprised him, even more, is when Hans nodded. He really finished reading those books. That’s ridiculous! “What?!… How did you read those books? By just scanning them?” Those books weren’t thin in the first place. Each book consists of 400 pages or more. Hans reading it at a fast pace is like how a photocopier works. It’s very fast.

I had just finished journal 3 when I stopped. “What am I doing?” I whispered and dropped the journal, “No, no, no. Please no. Stop.” I dropped to my knees and started to collect all the pages. In a frantic hurry, I picked up each page as if they were about to fade away. Pages had landed everywhere. On the bed, behind the cupboard, under the tables, even in the bathroom. I picked up 575 pages. Each journal was a book of 192 pages… which meant one page was missing.

I'd been reading it a lot lately, desperate to find answers. I flipped through the pages, noticing something odd for the first time. A page was missing. Ripped out, to be exact. I blinked hard, bringing the inside spine of the book closer so I could properly inspect. I hadn't been seeing things. The paper left on the page was uneven, an indication that someone had torn a page out. Why would someone do that? I scanned the surrounding pages, trying to make sense of the missing section. It seemed to be a crucial part of the book, detailing werewolf lore, ancient rituals and witch potions.

Unlocking the door of the cupboard which I stole from the teacher's room I examine the books which are arranged in. A smiles makes its way on my lips when my eyes catches the book which is larger than the others, I could see the papers have turned yellow and brown as most of them were popping out in the thick pages. Getting hold at the edge of the book with my index finger I try to pull it forward slowly making sure that other books doesn't fall over but due to the heaviness I couldn't. Grunting low I pull the book out without giving a thought, my movements pause and my eyes widens looking at the book which is about to loose it's balance, if it falls all the books in that row would collapse

The book cover was made of thick leather with parchment pages tightly bound together with twine. With trembling hands, Anna opened the cover and began reading the first page, and the next, and the next. She was astonished to see the text was word-for-word the exact same as the manuscript her publishing company was about to release in a few days, plus several thousand years in the future.

It was a feeling I get when I am near to the chamber of death. I heard the twisting of pages close to me, but no one was there. I looked up and saw a piece of paper falling down. The air reached its hands and led the dance as the paper moved delicately. It landed on the floor in slow motion, like a light feather. I bent my knees and grabbed the paper. It was a part of a book, and they tore the page apart. The paper was golden brown; it aged through centuries and was handwritten. I squinted and tried to read what they wrote.

“Can I have some paper? I want to try that.” “Okay,” she had eased off the bed sending little sparrows slipping and sliding across the covers, and had stepped around the empty shells of the romance covers that lay in a discard pile on the floor, their pages re-purposed into origami. At the edge of the ward, she handed him half a dozen pages torn from the hated novels. “There you are.”