Gravity Falls Wood Novels & Stories

"How is that possible?" Alec grabs my shoulder. "I think I figured something out." "Huh?" He bends down and pushes a rock no larger than my fist. Or at least he tries to. His face scrunches and turns red as he strains. "Gravity is different here," he gasps, still pushing. "Larger things weigh less, and the small things weigh a lot." I hustle over to help him. "Whatever you say." He's right, though. Even pushing together, we can't move the rock.

They dropped the log, panting. "You can't lift it," I said. "You're too weak. Stop trying to be strong." "Then what do we do?" a man asked, wiping mud from his eyes. "Surrender?" "No," I said. I pointed to the lever principle. "You use physics. You use leverage. You use the environment." I turned to the chemist, a woman named Mara. "Mara, what happens when you mix sulfur, charcoal, and the sap from the Blister-Bark tree?"

Sometimes the library was four people in a room all working in the same quiet, which was a different thing from loneliness and the opposite of it. One Sunday morning Edmund looked up from the floor and said: "Dad. Why do things fall down instead of up?" “Gravity," I said. “Yes, but why does gravity go down?" he said. “It goes toward mass," I said. "The Earth is very heavy. Gravity pulls toward it." He considered this. "So if there was something heavier than the Earth above us things would fall up?" “In theory," I said. He wrote something in his notebook. Eleanor looked up from her desk. "That is not practically achievable in our current situation," she said.

The fall was more than something he could control. He couldn’t stop the scream that forced itself out of his mouth as he found himself struggling against the force of gravity. His body hit the window guards from the top most floor and his head also hit one of the opened window glasses and continued downward until it got to the middle floor at the fourth second where it hit another opened glass window, all this slowing down his movement and increasing the pains of his fall. He closed his eyes in anticipation of his death as he continued falling.

Proving something to the room. She pushed past the marked boundary into the older growth where the trees were dense and the ground was uneven, roots breaking the surface in long tangled lines. Too fast. Too deep. She was so focused on performing that she stopped reading the terrain. The crack came first — a deep, tearing sound from somewhere in the older growth as a rotted root system gave way. Then the old oak began to fall.

She went to return it but hesitated, giving the shelf another look. Putting the potted plant down, she reached for the piece of wood. She pushed it inwards towards the wall, but nothing happened. Grabbing the edge, she pulled towards herself. At first, nothing happened. But when she used both hands to pull, the piece budged. Applying more force, she kept pulling. The wood started separating from the wall on one side, and she kept pulling until it was jutting straight out of the wall. Lyra heard a clicking sound, and then the wall in front of her moved.

There was Darkness Evolving all round the Chain Woods as several drops of Rain fell on the fallen leaves and solid ground. The sky rumbled while a low growl Emanated the Woods. The growl came a little lower than a normal growl while it seemed to be in a lot of Pain as it's cries could Clearly be felt around the Woods

We work as a team, and honestly, it works like a charm. Until it doesn’t. We’re about halfway up the rock-wall when Nessa grabs a handhold with her right hand and begins pulling herself up. But then the rock slides smoothly back into the wall, and she loses her grip.. “What the hell—” The stone beneath her foot vanishes next, retracting like it was never there. I hear her gasp, and the next thing I know, we hit the floor side-by-side. Fucking hard. A huge thud echoes through the hall from the stupid wooden floors. Who the hell thought wooden floors would be a good idea?

The creature stood calmly at the center of it all, arms lowered now, watching the widening crack as though greeting something it had waited a long time to see again. “You always return violently,” it said softly. The forest shuddered in response. Then the thing beneath the world pushed harder. The crack split fully open. And the roots lifted. They did not break. They rose. Entire sections of forest floor peeled upward in slow, impossible layers as though gravity had reversed itself beneath the clearing. Trees bent sideways as their roots pulled free from the earth, suspended for a moment in midair before shifting upward toward the opening below. I stumbled backward, barely keeping my footing

Warm. The impact knocked the breath out of her, jolting her from freefall into a violence of motion and fur and gravity. The new weight wrapped around her, cradling her against a massive chest as the world flipped and crashed and tumbled through brush and rock. The landing was brutal. Branches snapped. Earth tore. A tree trunk splintered. They slid down a slope, rolling until momentum bled out and they hit a patch of mossy ground with a final, bone-jarring thud.