Novel Lines Novels & Stories

I'm sure what they heard was just a stupid goat bleating. Sky lifted the book above his head and asked, “What exactly should I give back?” Since words weren't enough, then I'd have to do it the hard way—the violent taketh it by force! I jumped, trying to reach my novel, but he was far taller than me. I must look stupid right now. Sky stretched his hand sideways, and handed the novel to Quinn. Not him! I rushed to take the book from Quinn, but I was held back by Josh, who grabbed my backpack.

This speaker will appear only in the Prologue and Epilogue of the book. Other than that. I do hope that there might be some readers who might be interested in giving other genres a chance. My book will interestingly revolve around hacking. There was no tag for 'computers' or 'Hacking' per se. So I do hope that there will be an audience that will give my YA/Teen novel a chance. Much LOVE! And Thank you all for your prospective support.

“Cruel. Absolutely cruel.” We started walking, backpacks slung low, the late afternoon sun warm against my face. It felt…light. Like the near-disaster upstairs hadn’t almost cracked my ribs open with panic. Like my heart hadn’t been sprinting for its life less than an hour ago. “So,” I said, because silence felt suspiciously loud, “did you see the guy three rows ahead of us? When we were writing the second paper?” Taylor’s eyes lit up immediately. “The pen tapper?”

“Tonight marks the start of a new chapter. There’s a lot to celebrate and since I can’t drink right now, I’m counting on all of you to do it in my stead.” Luna Valeria stood up, took the decanter and poured in everyone’s glass. Riley and Alexander had water. “To new beginnings,” Luna Valeria said, lifting her glass. Alexander nodded, raising his own. “To new beginnings. To second chances. To family, blood and chosen.” One by one, the others stood up, raising their glasses. “To forgiveness,” Ethan added. “To love,” Riley said, holding Elvis’s hand. “To the future,” Lydia said quietly. “To hope,” Elvis added, his voice barley audible but sincere.

He dialed repeatedly, but each attempt met the same automated voice: "The subscriber you have reached is powered off." His bravado crumbled, and he spat, "Just you wait!" He scooped up his shoes and bolted for the exit. The staff members shrugged and returned to their routines. The manager bit his tongue, looking troubled. Reading his mind, I reached for my phone and called Imogen, but her phone was switched off. One instance might be a coincidence. Two identical failures formed a pattern. I clenched my fists until the muscles ached. A slow chill spread through me.

Sharp jawline, green eyes that seemed to see too much, and an air of confidence that should have been annoying but somehow wasn't. "Actually, I was just leaving." Emma started gathering her things, but her laptop bag chose that moment to rebel. The zipper stuck, her notebook tumbled to the floor, and her pen rolled under the stranger's feet. He crouched down to retrieve her pen, and Emma caught sight of the title on her fallen notebook's cover: "Heat Between the Lines - Draft 3." Her heart stopped. That was her working title—the one she'd scribbled on the cover without thinking, the one that revealed exactly what kind of book she was struggling to write.

“I don’t want to do this, please don’t make me.” The fear in my voice is palpable. The tension in the room can be cut with a knife. Beads of sweat run down the side of my face and down my neck. I move to wipe it off and then remember the all too familiar liquid that coats my hand like a second skin. Blood. Looking up into the night sky, the stars seem to twinkle, unaware of the turmoil I face. Suddenly a wave of bitterness washes over me. Why do I always have to play the fool? With an angry grunt I swing the knife down. Red explodes into the night. Dangerous and beautiful, my new favorite color.

he said. She set her hand flat on the library table. "The nine lines that exist now," he said, "were added later. They're a summary. A condensed version of the original twenty-six." He paused. "When I arrived on the island and examined the manuscript, I found nine lines in the slightly different hand. I also found evidence that the pages preceding those nine lines had been removed not recently, not by Aldara. Much earlier." "Someone removed seventeen lines before Aldara removed the nine," she said.

I felt the fundamental physics of our existence being rewritten in my mind. > The Law of the Source stated that: > > > But I was changing the equation. I was making: > > ### The Inking of the Souls "Everyone! Grab onto each other!" I commanded. I didn't draw a wall. I began to draw **Lines of Connection**. I ran the pencil over the four billion survivors, "Inking" them together. I used my own Red Blood as the medium, weaving it with the Golden Light to create a thread that the Eraser couldn't touch.

I said. I lifted the pen. Instead of writing new text, I drew a single, firm line straight through the paragraph. Ink—my ink—cut across the Game’s, black slashing through neat letters. The page shuddered. The entire book did. Its spine pulsed once in my hand like a living thing. On the line beneath, where the system had queued options for alternative “tragedy modes,” space opened. I wrote, in all caps: TO BE CONTINUED.