Hope Emily Dickinson Novels & Stories

"Where is the Emily who was never afraid of anything? Where is that Emily who always met challenges head-on, who never hesitated to confront her fears? Where is the Emily who refused to turn a blind eye to wrongdoing, who always stood up for what was right?" Emily's voice erupted in a raw scream, she forcibly freed herself from Axel's grasp, her words pouring forth in a torrent of anguish and bitterness. "She is no more..." she cried, her voice cracking with emotion. "The Emily you're searching for is gone. She died—the Emily who once held onto hope and strength, who faced the world with courage and determination. She's gone,

This was the Emily the observer remembered: lively, full of hope, and surrounded by people who cared about her. As the afternoon waned and the trio made their way to a nearby park, the observer followed at a discreet distance. The park was bustling with activity, and it provided plenty of cover for someone who didn’t want to be seen. The observer found a bench that offered a good view of the large oak tree where Emily and her friends had settled.

Yours, Byron Emily hugged the letter close to her chest. No one had ever done anything like this for her before. She put on an album by Quinn Faines and listened to the sad, romantic country songs as she lay in bed, letting the sentimental sounds of guitars and fiddles wash over her, knowing it would take her a while to fall asleep. She wanted Byron in her life. Whatever arrangement they might come to, she wanted it to work.

"Of course, I mean. If at thirteen you can write ten good lines, at twenty you'll write ten times ten--if the gods are kind. Stop messing over months, though--and don't imagine you're a genius either, if you have written ten decent lines. I think there's something trying to speak through you--but you'll have to make yourself a fit instrument for it. You've got to work hard and sacrifice--by gad, girl, you've chosen a jealous goddess. And she never lets her votaries go--even when she shuts her ears for ever to their plea. What have you there?" Emily, her heart thrilling, handed him her Jimmy-book. She was so happy that it shone through her whole being with a positive radiance. She saw her fut

"I was worried that Ms. Emerson would find me presumptuous, but actually, I have admired you for a long time." She blushed a little, feeling embarrassed. With such a small circle, there seemed to be no secrets within as information was easily spread among themselves. She had heard a lot about Hannah's achievements. Unlike her parents who thought Hannah was different, Emily envied her strength. It was as if nothing could defeat her. Her eyes sparkled with indescribable admiration and envy as she whispered, "It turned out the photos online were not retouched … When I saw those photos, you looked so beautiful, I thought they were deliberately edited!"

Lila’s POV “Hello, Lila. How was your weekend?” “Oh, hey, Miss Emily,” I said as I approached the art room. Miss Emily stood outside the door wearing a beautiful, dotted dress that rested just above her knees and a pair of knee-high boots. Her short curly brown hair was pinned out of her face and rested just above her shoulders. She also wore very light makeup; I liked Miss Emily because she always had such a natural and comforting look. She was very beautiful.

I quickly step out to see a woman whose voice sounded awfully familiar, arguing with Delilah, the only model acquaintance I got along with because she was just as bitchy and spoilt as me. “You think I am a loser with no friends. Okay, first of all you couldn’t be more wrong, I have a lot of friends, Elizabeth, Victoria, Danika…..umm...my mother, my grandmother who, fun fact, knitted this sweater for me.” The woman said proudly as she gave Delilah what she thought was a savage reply. Yep, that’s Emily. Delilah just shook her head as she tried to process Emily’s personality, “What’s going on?” I intervene before the fight gets out of hand.

She had carved the word HATE into her left arm. Our pathetic relationship ended soon after that. Then I met Emily—the tall, blue-eyed, glasses-wearing redhead of my dreams. I was always one for the gingers. I came across Emily while browsing an LGBT support website. Her number was at the bottom of her profile, and I figured, what the hell, why not? Not only was Emily beautiful, but she was also witty and poetic. The first few days we talked, it was nothing but poems back and forth. I had never fallen so hard for someone so fast.

At that moment, Sophie seemed to remember something. “Lydia, I heard you call Emily's name just before you came in. Do you know her?” Lydia's face fell. “Yeah, Emily is my colleague. She's also an editor on my team. Do you know her?” The once joyful expression on their faces vanished with different questions running through their minds. “How did Emily get a job? She has never used her degree, his did a good company like Hasting hire her in such a top position?” Wesley thought with a frown.

DYLAN I had just had a meeting over dinner, so I wasn't hungry. I went to the kitchen, and I found Emily there. Just the person I was looking for. "Hey, Emily," I said as I placed the envelope I was carrying on the kitchen table. Emily had just finished doing the dishes and was probably about to retire to bed. She was just twenty-two, yet she appeared younger. She was youthful and full of life. "Good evening. Let me serve you dinner," she offered politely.