Memoir Of A Novels & Stories

As his fingers were pried open, Harry greedily examined Celine, who was now close to him. She seemed a little thinner, but her complexion looked much better. Even the small mole beside her eye looked familiar and adorable. However, the small face before him was filled with struggle and panic. He could not help looking down, noticing his fingers being pried open little by little. A strong sense of unease and panic suddenly rushed to Harry's head. His voice was urgent and frantic. "Celine! Will you give me a chance?" Miriam from next door had just come out of her house with a watering can, ready to water the plants.

After taking photos of both documents, I carefully put the box back. … Quinton was gone for half a month. During that time, I tried every possible way to recover my memories.

Amid cheers, Michael stepped onto the stage, his voice steady and cool. "Last year, I got into an accident and lost my sight completely. I'd like to thank someone. Because of her careful care, I was able to recover so quickly. "Thank you, Ms. Goodwin." My heart pounded as I listened, trying to keep my face calm. The spotlight landed straight on Audrey. She lifted her chin and gave a shy, blushing smile. "I'm your nurse. Taking care of you was my duty." Michael's lips curled into a smile—the kind that looked dangerous.

**** ~ Flashback ~ Before heading to the library, Evelina and Rissa are on their way to the opposite end of the class to the library. Evelina walks and she stops from her path, she just remembers that there was something she forgot. Seeing Evelina's reaction stop, Rissa asks her. "Eve, what's wrong? Is there anything you left in the classroom?" "No, I forgot something. That actually, I wanted to return the book in the library," she replied.

” I interest, feeling outrage and disappointment building inside me. "I told you before ." He opens his eyes. " How?" I ask between my teeth. I feel like time is running out. —Initiates the memory places of the mind, clears the fog and places photos of the specialists in fear in the center,— finally begins to speak. I composed the book to see if anyone else similar to me had seen them before. I thought I could reveal it, a work to incite... someone else's memory. They would see the cover, the indication of a memory, they would take the book, they would read it, the suffocated memories would rise to the top and then they would follow their direction towards me to find more, he clarifies almos

A girl in her late 20’s, was walking in a hotel corridor, completely drunk. Her 5ft 6-inch figure was dangling with a lost mind over her each step. Her vision was too hazel to recognize the path in front of her, just like her life. Anger, frustration, and feeling of betrayal once again were swelling her heart.

He groaned, shoving his hand down my pants to stroke my hard cock, thumb rough over the slick head. “That’s my boy. Trusting me with your ass and your life. I meant every word earlier. You’re not a suspect anymore. You’re mine.” His fingers worked me fast, making my knees buckle while outside we heard voices getting closer, flashlights cutting through the rain. I pumped his dick in return, both of us jerking each other messy and quick in the dark boathouse. “Tell me the rest then,” I gasped, hips bucking into his fist. “The memoir’s biggest secret. The one that can bury Marcus for good. I need to know what we’re fighting for.”

But the day my father died, ninety-nine unanswered calls and one photo of an embrace on a Paris street broke the beautiful three-year illusion to pieces. After hesitating a long time, I rose from the cold floor and walked to the deepest part of the house, to the hidden basement Sebastian had never let me set foot in. The moment the heavy iron door swung open, a biting cold rushed at me, and the blood in my veins went still. The entire basement was packed full, every inch of it a trace of Serena. Her portraits covered the walls. The shelves held neat rows of candid shots of her, photos from her awkward school years, even doodles she had scribbled without thinking. On the vanity sat the perfum

PHOEBE I spent the entire night tossing and turning, my mind trapped in a chaotic, unending loop of ocean-blue eyes and haunted confessions. Highly Superior Autobiographical Memory. The man literally couldn’t forget a single bad day if he tried. Every slight, every grief, every scratch on a wall or tone of voice was locked away in his brain in permanent, unyielding high-definition. It was mind-blowing, it’s exciting yet I could guess how exhausting it might also be. I couldn’t even remember what I’d eaten for breakfast last Thursday, and my entire childhood before the age of ten was just a blank, velvety void of nothingness—a biological mercy file my brain had apparently decided to delete fo

And what had my mother, Lira, known? My gaze came to rest on the small, wrinkled leather-bound book I'd carried in my backpack – my history book. I reached out and grasped it, following the contours of the familiar cover with my thumb. It was something I could hold onto, a link to a time before this damned place. And then, without warning, a memory, vivid and clear, cut through the haze of my despair.