One Hundred Years Of Solitude Novels & Stories

I sat there alone all night. In the morning, a servant brought me a birthday cake. Black Forest, with a single white candle. I poured myself a glass of aged blood and raised it. “To our century.” I drained the glass and blew out the candle. My personal countdown hit zero. I dragged my suitcase out the manor's main gate. Sitting in the private car on the way to the airport, I pulled out my phone and sent Kaelan one last text. "Our century is over." With that one sentence, I said goodbye to a hundred years of my youth, and to my obsession with Kaelan.

Since I didn’t own much, it didn’t take long. Then, I noticed something tucked beneath the bed. A navy blue journal. It was mine. Flipping it open, my eyes landed on memories I couldn’t recall but had once written. "Day one of our marriage. Shawn didn’t come home." "He said I was manipulative. That I drugged him to marry me. But I don’t even remember that night." "Attempt 1: He said even if I died in front of him, he wouldn’t flinch." "Attempt 100: If he still doesn’t care, and my parents still don’t love me, then maybe I’ll stop trying since no one in this world sees me."

"Savannah! This isn't a game. Marriage is serious. Are you really sure about this? "I stood by you for 20 years, and you never once said you wanted to marry me. So, why are you now choosing to marry a stranger? And to make matters worse, you're living so far away. Aren't you ashamed?" "I'm not acting on impulse. Every decision I've made has been carefully considered," I answered evenly. They thought they had waited for me all this time, but the truth was, I had been waiting for them just as long. For all those years, I clung to the belief that the bond between me and the Hawthorne brothers could never be broken.

It hit my human lungs, my blood, my baby. I dropped to my knees, vomiting. Nothing came up but bile and fear. _Ten minutes,_ they said. Wolves lasted ten minutes. I had to last longer. “Time starts now!” Darius called from outside. The maze was dark. The walls were too high to climb. The only way was through. I crawled. The silver burned my palms. The wolfsbane made my vision blur. The baby was quiet. Too quiet. _Please,_ I thought. _Please, little wolf. Stay with me._

"Hop in, Mr. Crowe! If we leave now, you'll still make it to the airport in time." Very soon, I left the base behind in their car. As I looked at the place where I had spent the last five years, I realized there was not even the slightest trace of attachment left in my heart anymore. The wind outside the window still blew relentlessly across the desert. But somehow, against my face, it no longer felt so cold. Leaning back against the seat, I watched the lights of the base grow farther and farther away in the rearview mirror. The corners of my lips slowly curled upward. 'June, for the rest of our lives, let's never see each other again.'

Third Person's POV Another six months passed, with Lorenzo's life gradually settling into a monotonous calm. He went to work, came home, ate, and slept. Like a soulless machine, he mechanically repeated each day. He didn't socialize, didn't go out for entertainment, and didn't contact anyone from his past. His only friend was Antonio, the only person who had stayed by his side after he lost everything. One evening, when Antonio came to visit, he brought with him a bottle of whiskey. The moment Lorenzo saw the bottle, his expression changed.

Christmas was the reading of the book. This Christmas, Don's book was a novel—Norwegian, which was not a coincidence, a novel by the same writer whose essays were in the Norway reading programme. The novel was called The Dark Year, and it was about a man who spent a winter alone in a cabin in the far north of Norway, experiencing the full darkness for the first time. Don had been saving it since September, when he had finished the essays. He had placed it on the shelf above his desk, the designated holding place for the Christmas book, and had not opened it once.

Elise Her question hung in the corrupted air between us, and I understood, with a clarity that ached deep in my chest, that this single moment mattered more than almost anything I'd faced across this endless journey. Four centuries of loneliness had taught Solveig to expect betrayal dressed as kindness. If I answered wrong now, if my words carried even a shadow of false comfort, I would lose her to that expectation forever.

Love Jac. I sat down and opened my present, very carefully unwrapping it. I placed the book down and folded the newsprint neatly. I picked up the book, looking it over carefully. Jac always found obscure books on his research trips for me, something new to add to my library. I wonder if this is the last book he will get me, now that he’s a mated man. I sighed lightly, I would miss this. I flipped the book over to the cover. The Country and the City by Raymond Williams. The book was greyish in color, always a hard cover. I went over to my shelf where I kept the books of urban citylife. I picked up the newsprint and went to my window, where a box sat on a shelf. I unlocked the box with a littl

*** Eleven years ago. The small cabin and its wooden walls warm with the light from lanterns, was filled with Solana’s laughter. We lay entwined in her sheets, naked and satiated, her dreadlocks fanned out on my chest like dark rivers. The air was redolent of pine and sweat, the afterglow buzzing back and forth between us. She’d taken me around the settlement earlier, the fire pits whispering stories, kids darting under stars, Nicolas’s welcoming nod. It was alive, pulsing, a world away from my father’s cold imperatives. Running a finger along the length of her arm, I chuckled. “This place is so much cooler than I thought. Everyone’s so… connected. I stand out like a sore thumb, a skinny whi