Les Miserables Novels & Stories

"Fuck! My parents are gonna be at work by then. Can I get a ride?" I sent him a thumbs up. "Yeah, I'll ask Marco." Marco, the chauffeur and personal home-assitant I hired, was a great guy. He was respectful, responsible, and definitely knew his way around his job. Marcus nodded before pushing his visor back down and pulling out of the driveway. I pulled my own visor back down before pulling out of the parking lot in the opposite direction as Marcus. I took a deep breath and listened to the sound of the engine as I rode down the road, and felt the amazing rush I got whenever I rode into the open roads, carefree, and at peace.

Life would never be the same for Labeebah again. Bamako, Mali. "Gentlemen. See you in the morning." Sa'ad leaned back in his chair in relief and slunk down till he felt completely comfortable. The commandant of this peace mission he was involved in was a General from Britain and he was intensely strict. The rest of them were Africans or African Americans who rolled their eyes at the very annoying General who lorded his size and position over all the soldiers. But they knew they just had to endure, the rule of army was clear; never defy orders.

Her head rested on his chest, and as his fingers traced lazy circles on her back, she closed her eyes, letting herself be carried by the gentle rhythm of his breathing. Susan and Leo stepped out of the hotel elevator, the bustling sounds of Atlantic City’s nightlife embracing them as they entered the casino floor. The air felt thick with the tang of excitement and risk—an intoxicating mix of clinking coins, flashing lights, and the low hum of jazz music streaming through the speakers. The hum of activity was mesmerizing. Slot machines whirred, dealers shuffled cards, and laughter mixed with the occasional cheer of a winner echoed around them.

She looked at it, and her indifferent expression instantly changed into shock. "Miles, why is my assistant saying that Zack had died three years ago?"

Poverty would strain any marriage, especially for people like them who were already morally bankrupt and could only share wealth, not hardship. Having lost me as their pillar, their finances became suddenly tight. The place they rented was small and old. Donovan's work remained unstable, and the factory where Sloane worked had inconsistent business.

“To make sure you don’t paint the rest of the furniture.” “I’m going to paint a boat next,” Gabriel declared with the absolute certainty of a child who had never known a world that didn’t want him. “A big boat to go into the sun.” Victoria watched them—the man who had been her silent shadow and the child who was her impossible miracle. The architecture of their lives was no longer made of steel and glass, susceptible to gravity and greed. It was made of moments like this. It was made of the quiet, humble joy of knowing that the monsters were dead, the names were changed, and the debt was paid in full.

I was so distracted with chasing the Kingrad that I didn't notice the scent of this person. A minty scent with a fish tainted water and a rotting moss. At that moment, one thing came on my mind. A fucking alligator from the Reptile pack. My nose wrinkled. Another shitty thing that I hated. It had been long since I encountered a reptile, yet the feeling never went away. The reptile pack and the cat pack loathed each other, but both packs hated me more. It was because I was a hybrid: a mix of both them which was frowned upon.

Jean let out a sarcastic smile. “I am sorry. Would you give me another chance?” Jason’s eyes were bloodshot. His nose turning red from the cold. His wet clothes did not help in keeping him warm on a winter night. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and had never lowered himself to beg anyone. But in front of Jean, he was no longer the arrogant Jason he used to be, but instead, he was just an ordinary man who longed to be accepted by the woman he liked. “No, I won’t.” Jean answered without hesitation.

I am so grateful to the one who invented music because I would literally die of boredom without it, even though I only listen to one band which is the Mayday Parade -- an American rock band from Florida that I had discovered because of my deceased brother - Zon. My inside cells were already dancing to the beat of the song Miserable at Best as I watched the bus slowly move across the roads. It'd definitely take a while before I reached the school. The conductor kept on calling passengers without realizing the bus was already full. He couldn't even smell his own breath while trying to cross between people standing in the middle of the bus.

Like a puppy beaten and abandoned by its master, I dragged my cold, wine-soaked body back to my small room. I curled up in the corner, my trembling fingers tearing off my wet, torn clothes. My skin stung, but it was nothing compared to the despair in my heart. I remembered when Eric had amnesia, I’d injured my leg in a car accident, bleeding badly. His eyes had turned red, and he’d let out a pained growl. He’d frantically found some medicine to put on the wound, torn strips from his own clothes to bandage me, so incredibly gentle.