My Humble Abode Novels & Stories

Who went to such lengths for wealth these days? “Welcome to my humble abode.” He said as he swerved the car into the front of a house. The house seemed big, its outside was finely designed. The porch looked expensive even if I couldn’t tell the materials used to make it. Its doors and windows were made of fine glass, and it looked beautiful. The expensive kind of beauty, there was beauty that could be bought with money, but there was also the beauty that couldn’t only be gotten from human touch, from warmth. The little things humans do that add beauty, a little garden, a forgotten shovel, and little imperfections here and there that made the scene perfect, thi

I started clearing the table, filled myself with the leftovers, and went to my sweet abode. Although the mansion was quite big there was no place for me inside the house. My abode was a small room in the outhouse. It was a small room that had a small bed on one side and a small cupboard on the other side. On one corner was a small table on which there was a statue of Lord Krishna and pictures of some other gods. It was like a small temple. I kept on staring at Krishna's statue with the question in my mind, when will my days change? All of a sudden, the doors of the room opened, and my dear sisters barged in.

You two haven't gone hungry, so what is there to be dissatisfied about? "It's not like the construction site is unlivable. Why do you insist on wasting money on a house? Plenty of people out there have to sleep on the streets!" I looked down at my dirt-caked fingernails, which looked so ugly next to Abigail's perfect, glossy manicure. For as long as I could remember, I had lived in a corrugated tin shack that was freezing in the winter and scorching in the summer. The roaring noise outside never stopped, which had severely damaged my hearing.

abode was a literal mansion that could house a small army, complete with Russian maids scurrying like shadows and security goons posted at every corner, their eyes scanning me like I was an intruder rather than the prodigal son. It reeked of the Bratva, even here in the land of the free. I could already feel the headache building behind my eyes. 'Please, for once, just let this be a normal visit,' I thought, though I knew better. She never missed a chance to drag me back into the family "legacy." The gates swung open with a mechanical groan as I approached. I pulled up to the front steps, killing the engine and stepping out into the crisp morning air.

The Surveyor-General’s begrudging footnote—“Here there be Hearth. (Inefficient. Do not simplify.)”—became our informal motto. It was etched (crookedly, by Lina) over the bakery’s stone oven. Life settled into a rhythm so deep and contented it felt like the bedrock of reality itself.

Then through the thick wall of trees, I saw a small cabin. It sat in a small clearing, barely visible between the overgrowth of trees. The wood was rotting and the roof was sagging. The windows were coated in grime, and the porch looked like it would collapse under the weight of my legs. If I hadn’t known better, I would have assumed it was abandoned. But it wasn’t. The door opened slowly, and Ambrose stepped out. He definitely looked worse for wear, which made me feel better about this whole arrangement. His clothes were stained and wrinkled and his shoes were scuffed with dirt. His face was gaunt, his beard patchy and reddish, disgusting pimples covered his face.

My voice rang all around the less wealthy home I lived in with my mom and brother. Though our house was less wealthy, it had modesty, humbleness, and love in it. Even though the house was smaller and needed some repairs like the linking roof, and it also didn't have all the latest conveniences, that doesn't mean it's not filled with love and comfort. It was way cozier and more inviting for us since we had each other's back in everything.

Thankfully, they merely glanced in our direction without daring to question us. Finally, we arrived at our destination. The barracks stood before us, resembling a typical encampment for soldiers. It consisted of modest wooden cabins, designed to accommodate two or three individuals, positioned closely together. Pointing towards the left, he indicated, "That humble house over there is where I reside."

What do you call humble? The house was really huge and luxurious by American standards in many neighborhoods, but there it didn't stand out among many others of the same standard. My car was in the garage, which was right in front of the garden. It would soon be dark and some of the automatic lights would start to come on. We entered the house and the delicious menthol scent of cleaning invaded my nostrils. Samia knew I was coming and had certainly gone to do my monthly cleaning. Samia was the most dedicated cleaner in all of Istanbul. Giuliat also sighed deeply.

Saint's grand abode was a sprawling fortress of solitude, a regal palace seemingly built for royalty. It took a good forty minutes to traverse the winding roads that led to this mammoth mansion of opulence, with its grandiose dimensions twice that of Abel's humble abode. Yet despite its impressive façade, inside lay an eerie stillness; the vast halls and empty spaces devoid of any human presence. It was a ghostly refuge that whispered with secrets, waiting for the right tenant to bring it back to life.