Little Twisted Novels & Stories

Twisted I always had fear of death ever since I became aware of the clock birthmark engraved on my left palm. I always hate celebrating my birthday because it always serves as a reminder that I'll die young. My parents told me that among our generations, I am very different because my two clock birthmarks have the same date. Because of too much curiosity, I tried researching and reading stories and blogs that tackle different painful tragedies.

Handsome with a pointed nose,a sea blue eye ball and a dark hair which was styled backward,his looks were enough to make any woman melt before him but his cold looks and condition would make one have a second thought about him. He has everything a woman would want but he is in a wheelchair,a condition he wasn't born with but the condition life threw him in. He met with an unfortunate fate which took the life of his parents and made him paralyzed on a wheelchair when he was just ten. From a lively and carefree boy,he became cold and insecure because he felt like a liability to others but when he discovered who was behind the death of his parents,he became ruthless and that gave him the streng

Waking up today wasn’t my intention. I had a long day ahead of me and of course, I’m always the one who has to work hard. I wasn’t an adopted child, I wasn’t a stepdaughter, but I had an annoying twin sister. Veronica Summers, my identical twin was the opposite of me. She was pampered more by my mum and dad and always caused trouble - of course, I’m always the one to be blamed.

WINNIE I was convinced that I had stopped breathing at that moment. It took everything within me to still the tremor in my hands. “I can see you already having fun with your new husband” he spat the last two words with so much venom that I had to wonder if they were truly related. It was baffling that his own brother could detest him this much. His eyes raked over my body not so subtly and his eyes instantly darkened with hunger. I closed my eyes and shuddered internally for a brief moment.

The broken neck clattered against the marble, spinning once before dropping and shattering into piece. The whole room paused or maybe she was the one who froze. Although she knew the bottle could do nothing to save her from this man, she felt an extreme amount of defeat and fear once it was gone. He had her cornered now and she was totally in his mercy. And judging from the dark look that spread across his face, he knew that all too well. “ You've had your fun, Elara”. She gasped when his finger rested in her chin, tilting her head up “ Now it's my turn”.

The room felt impossibly small, warm, and electric, alive with the tension between them. The music pulsed low, a slow, intimate rhythm that wrapped around Imani, Malik, and Zariah, matching the quickening of their hearts. Every glance, every brush of skin, every lingering touch made Imani soaking wet.

She raised her eyebrows at my response, giving me a challenging look. "We could lose the whole project if it doesn't work out, Mr. Wilson." She replied in a pissed off tone and folded her arms in front of her chest to look intimidating and my eyes automatically flicked to her breasts. She looked so sexy in her yellow low cut blouse and a black pencil skirt. How can someone look so bitchy yet so tempting at the same time? I wanted to push her against the table and fuck her so hard.

he had in hush tones while standing three feet away from me, and broke eye contact with me and slowly looked down at my left foot that was close to a small shrub. my boot was ever so slightly touching the very thin wire, my eyes quickly followed the wire until my eyes met a tranq dart just waiting to be triggered, and right above my head was a net. i slowly backed up until my back met bodaway’s palm. he brought that hand to my shoulder and squeezed it. “we need to talk, but not here.” “Not safe.” - “are you still going to fuss and worry over me when the twins come, or are you going to forget about me?” she was holding up paint samples and closing one eye, furthering her imagination of what t

“Zio (uncle) Alessandro!” Two voices — identical, high-pitched, and dripping with mischief — rang out. Alessandro didn’t have to look up. He already knew who it was. The twins. Matteo and Marco. His younger cousins — fifteen years old, chaotic as hell, and a constant thorn in his side. Dressed in matching black hoodies and ripped jeans, their dark curls and mischievous grins were a mirror of each other. “Did we just hear something about an explosion?” Matteo smirked, plopping onto Alessandro’s leather couch.

she lied. Ryan gave her a small, sad smile. "You should be." --- Far below them, deep in the mansion’s stone bowels, Mason writhed against the restraints cutting into his wrists. The room was cold and damp, the air heavy with mildew and old blood. But Mason barely noticed. His mind was racing too fast. Plotting. Scheming. Planning his revenge. He wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot. His lips twisted into a snarl as he strained against the handcuffs, feeling them bite into his skin.