No Place Like Home Novel Novels & Stories

"Can we go to the bookshop?" They went. The shop occupied a converted house three streets over, with a resident dog named Duchess who greeted Noah by name and a whole shelf dedicated to field guides that Noah navigated with the confidence of a regular. He selected three books with careful deliberation — one on Pacific Northwest raptors, one a slim volume on migratory patterns he'd apparently been eyeing for weeks, and a third that surprised Adrian: a novel about a woman who builds something from nothing, its cover showing a small house under construction against a wide sky. "That one's for Mom," Noah said, setting it on the counter with the others. "She'll like it. Because she's Mom."

They had changed back into their normal hair and clothes style. “Better day spent out than being home?” He asked and Jhonia scoffed at him, she lowered her head but glanced up with a smile. “There is no place other than home, a homebody is a home-full person. Nowhere is better than being at home. You can have everything outside at home and feel great, but you can’t home everything outside.” She responded to him, explaining the difference in her point of view of home and outside. He smiled and looked at her as he understood what she meant. In other words, she was homing Nearce as her home everywhere, but she refused to do it twice. She would rather have everything home with her instead.

Without a college degree, it would be really difficult to find a decent job, she knew that much. Being a naive girl from the countryside, she knew she just had to suck it up till she could even find her way around the city. Luckily, the club wasn't far from their little apartment, they just had to walk the distance every evening. It didn't pay much but it was better than nothing. It was better than the life she had in Salta. "Still nothing?" Nicole asked, sitting beside Ava on the old sofa in their cramped and tiny living room. She mumbled something incoherent and dropped her cracked Tecno phone on the table. Apparently, the table was the only new thing in the entire apartment.

Finally, the place was starting to feel like home. Later that evening, I decided to reward myself for all the effort. I lit some scented candles, turned on my favorite playlist, and settled back on the couch with a good book. The soft glow from the candles and the soothing music created a cozy ambiance. As I read, I felt a deep sense of contentment. The apartment wasn’t just a place to live anymore; it was my sanctuary, a place where I could truly unwind and be myself, far from the abusive tendencies of my soon-to-be ex-husband.

His detachment is scaring me much more than I'm letting on. I turn to face him. “That's very thoughtful of you. But I wouldn't have minded staying at our home, if it meant being with you, really with you.” My response makes his grip on the steering wheel loosen slightly, his eyes flicking towards me for a brief moment. I give him a small smile and he quickly looks away. I sigh. “And no matter what state the house is in, it's still our home.” And then I remember a quote I read somewhere online that says, “Home isn't a place. It's a person.” And for me, that person is Liam, even though right now, he feels farther away than ever and it's tearing me apart.

Home is where that voice sings. I can feel I am not alone. There are others but I cannot touch them, I only know they are there. Family? Home? But I don’t remember home. I don’t remember anything before arriving in Crimson. How can this be home, a home I cannot even see? My world is shaken. Screaming, so much screaming. The warmth is snatched away. The screaming is silenced. I am crying but nobody can hear me, nobody can see that I am reaching out for my lost warmth, my home. Even though I have not moved, my room is now different. It is dark and cold. I reach out and feel a hard wall. There is no light, no glow, no signing. Struggling I try to push forward, but nothing changes, my arms are s

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. I’ll Be Home for Christmas (A Thorntons Christmas Novella) Published by Blue Violet Press LLC Seattle, Washington Copyright © 2017 by Iris Morland Cover design by Resplendent Media All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for

But after all I did, after all I have been through, I didn’t even got one! Kahit ilang beses ko ng sinabi sa sarili ko, that this isn’t a world inside a book anymore, I just keep denying it. I keep denying and turning a blind to it because if I did acknowledge that fact. It would just mean that I’m living on a separate world, by that there’s no way I would be back. There’s no way I can return. I can no longer go home. Just like what I have read from the diary entry of Senior Janice. Me and her were like Kassandra, we have a home were we belong, a home we long for.

“I miss parts of it. The forest behind our house. The smell of rain on pine needles. The way the pack howled together on full moons.” “But not the people?” I shook my head. “Not really.” She nodded, like she understood. “Sometimes home isn’t about people. It’s about places. Or feelings.” “What about you?” I asked. “Where’s home for you?” “A small village north of here. My parents still live there. I visit when I can.” She tied off a thread. “It’s quiet. Simple. Nothing like this castle.” “Do you like it here?” “Most days. The work is good. The people are… interesting.” She grinned. “And there’s never a dull moment. Especially lately.”

We’d planned our next path more wisely and carefully, tracking the path from one town to another so to ensure we had enough time to walk during the day and find somewhere to eat and rest for the nights. We’d ended up staying at The old lantern in for just over a week, more because of the weather forecast, it had said the snow would completely stop and the sun would be out meaning spring was definitely on its way. The day before we leave I remember Flos book in my bag and take the opportunity to have a look through it. It was a book inside a book, it looked as though she’d already filled one so had bought another to carry on her story. The fist part of the book brought me to tears, with the w