I Am What I Am Book Novels & Stories

“Dude! People are looking! Shut it!” When he finally stopped laughing his Irish arse off, he put one hand on my shoulder and smiled. “I’ll help you, luv.” “Awesome!” I walked to the nearby table and sat on its wooden chair. I pulled out my books and set them on the table. “Now?” Phraser asked me with arched brows. “Yes,” I answered as I opened the first page of the thick BMGC book. “Start from the beginning.” I heard him groan and quickly added, “you said you’d help.”

I Felt Like I was in an amazement park but in the worst possible ride ever. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. IF I GET HIT BY ANOTHER BOOK I WILL KILL THAT BOOK AND THEN I WILL BURN IT AND THEN I WILL BURY IT ASHES. As I finished my thoughts I got smacked by another book on my face. I grabbed the book. O YOU ARE SO DEAD.

I'll take it. "A different kind of book, No title but the content is awesome." I said and quickly took it and unfolded the other contents when suddenly someone hand blocked it. "Look, what are you reading?" She took it and looked at it. "No title. You're really weird Tyr." She said and looked at me, she threw the book in my face. "Speak up, I'm talking to you." "Who are you?" I replied boredly. "I'm just your one and only enemy Pysche, You don't care about me anymore? Is that just amnesia?" She said.

She took the glass in one sip and passed it without making a gesture through the drink, which looked like liquid fire. “It's something I read in a book called “I fell in love with my guru”, From the title, I assumed it was a love novel, and in part it was, although it also had themes of self-help and spirituality. In one part, he explains that people are like magnets and that they attract things.” He filled the glasses again and looked at the bottle that was about to be empty.

Amari POV: Bored I walked into the dusty room and I did some cleaning up. Got rid of the cobwebs and opened the curtains to try to brighten up the place Tracing my fingers over all the books on the shelf one falls onto the floor landing on my feet and I jump back a little. Picking up the book it says Album. Aww this must have all his baby pictures Opening it I'm met with a picture of a girl. My heart stops. Underneath the picture, it reads Amanda Calvenski. Cause of death Untreated cancer.

I’ve tried screaming and begging, but no sound other than my own ever echoes. Am I dead?’ I don’t know why, but my heart starts beating loud and frantic in my ears. Something about what’s written here isn’t right. The writing is changing, becoming more scrawled and desperate. ‘What am I supposed to do? Am I being punished? Is what I’m writing on these sheets of paper with my blood ever going to be found? Help me. Help me. Help me, please.’ “You seem to be immersed in that book.” “MOTHERFUCKER!” I slam the book shut and swing my arm

it had coffee brown pages and if I knew anything that book was going to get me wrecked and I wasn’t ready for another heartache I bought the book anyway along with a small notebook, and left the store with a paper bag in one hand and a strange weightlessness in the other. why do I always know what's bad for me but still end up going for it. was this another form of self harm? or rather another form of sociopathy? I had so many questions but so little answers I ended up at a nearby café with outdoor seating. It was nearly empty, save for a couple whispering across a candlelit table and a man reading alone near the back.

“Why me?” “I don’t know,” the woman said truthfully. “But I know what it means. The fire doesn’t awaken without purpose. And it doesn’t choose without price.” Aiden moved beside her, steady as always. “Can you help her?” “I can show her pieces,” the woman said. “Glimpses. But she must walk the path herself. The flame will burn brighter the more she accepts it. And the more she denies it…” Her voice softened. “The more it will consume her.”

When I said that, Jeffrey looked surprised for just a second, but then he composed himself and gave me a book. "This is the medical book you wanted. While you were sick, I made a copy for you." I grabbed the book fast, scared that I might start crying at any moment. Back in my room, I looked through the copied book, touching the confident writing. There was only one copy of this medical book in the entire world, and it was kept by a collector. The borrowing process was difficult, and anyone who got it had to return it within a day. Jeffrey probably stayed up all night to copy it.

She angles the laptop so I can read better. “Your book gave me permission to leave. I thought I was crazy for twenty years. Thank you for showing me I wasn’t.” I feel my chest tighten as she scrolls to another message. “I’m a man who controlled my wife without realizing it. Your book opened my eyes. I’m in therapy now. We’re trying to rebuild.” “Amelia,” I say softly, pulling her closer. She keeps scrolling, showing me message after message. Thousands of them, each one a story of pain finding purpose, of survival becoming strength. Her hand trembles slightly on the trackpad.