Herman Melville Novels & Stories

“No. I just write for me. Whatever my mind dreams up, I put it on paper. I just write because I have to do something with everything my mind thinks up. It’s a good way to deal with my emotions. I simply write them out into a story. Some aren’t great, but some are, I think, anyway.” “Do you ever let anyone read them?” “No. I told you that I only write for myself. However, I let Melissa read one of my short stories once. She liked it, but she might have just lied to not hurt my feelings,” Dominique laughed. “I’m sure she really did like it. Maybe if we get to know each other, I can talk you into letting me read one sometime.” “I won’t say never because no one ever knows what’s going to happen,

“Once you get the job, it will be the next thing we will do, like we have planned. Now go on, I will be right here.” Ichabod nodded and walked towards the mansion. He could see some men walking out already. None was white, they were all black and well built. They kept looking at him as he passed. He began to think maybe he was over dressed, he was all suited up unlike the men who were in fabrics that clung so tightly to their body, showing off their rippling muscles and protruding groin. “Good Lord!” He said to himself before walking in, holding in his hand a document.

“Do not think of it in such common terms, June,” he whispered, his voice smooth as silk but heavy as lead. “You are looking at this through the lens of human morality, but we are wolves. We are creatures of destiny and design.”He stepped even closer, his heat radiating through my thin, silver dress, a cruel contrast to the damp stone wall at my back.

"Your biggest challenge is patience. You must relax, everything will unfold in due time. Worrying is not going to make your destiny happen any faster." “The Hermit. You are looking for answers, making you somewhat of an introvert. You've been shying away from people and even friends. Originally, it was an attempt to discover yourself, but it hasn't helped has it?" The analysis causes Sera to swallow hard before shaking her head. "That's because self-discovery happens through experiences, not introspection." Anna flips the next card and places it below the first two facing Sera. It's a moon with several wolves howling up at it. "The Moon. Oh, you are having visions!" She leans closer, suddenl

Why him? I stared at the growing web of connections, the patterns that didn’t make sense. My hand trembled as I pinned up one last word: WHO IS DIEGO? The lantern flickered, shadows crawling across the walls, as though the universe itself didn’t want me to know the answer. And deep inside, I felt my wolf stir—calm, but whispering something I couldn’t quite catch. Then—knock. I froze. Someone was at my bedroom door.

Willie, I remember him telling me that the merperson addressed the group of islands as Lemenland. It was a mysterious group of islands. Nobody knew when the islands would reveal themselves or when they would disappear. When Dr. Willie had voyaged in search of the islands again, they had disappeared. The merperson and a member of the crew, as well as his precious video camera, were gone. It was as if it had never happened because he didn’t have the footage in the video camera to prove it. So Willie’s article was taken as a work of fabrication, and he couldn’t live with his head held high anymore since then.

But Herman was different; his skills were top-notch, and he quickly determined the precise longitude and latitude. Henry's movement range was still in the Atlantic Ocean. After twenty-six hours of flying, they finally pinpointed his location on another island in the Atlantic Ocean. Laura didn't have much impression of that island, but Herman had checked the information about it. It belonged to a private island where the Mafia held prisoners.

She remembered the two people she met in the human world. Jelca first remembered Merfie who was her true and best friend. How was her friend? Probably, when Merfie wakes up tomorrow she will look for Jelca. The next human that came to mind was the man who had dined out with her last night. Mister Wolfords. Even though they only met for a short time, the man was already a part of her life. She wants to go back to the man and tell her that there really are wolves like the one in the portrait in his living room.

When I was five, I was always excited whenever it was time for bed. My Grandma Momma will cook our dinner. Let me brush my teeth and comb my long hair. And after that, she will put me into bed and bedtime stories will follow. She told me a lot of fantasy stories, but my favorite was the pirate of the Lost Sea named Escarial. He was the epitome of perfection. Gentleman, handsome, a knight in shining armor to most of the ladies in their land, and most of all, he caught the heart of the brave princess, Athalia.

It was dominated by a large bed, draped in a dark blue duvet, with white linen turned down halfway. A large desk featured on the far wall, facing an oval window, and upon the desk, there was a ledger and a copy of one of his father’s favourite books, Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. The cover was weathered, the pages yellowed. It had been in his family for over seventy years and with it came only good memories of a time gone by. There were other books too, encyclopaedias on naval history and famous seamen, a vast history condensed into one small space.