Online Burn Book Novels & Stories

I look over at the bed beside me to see June fast asleep with her reading light on and a book laid out open amongst her sleeping body. June was so quiet when she was asleep, she almost looked like an angel. I got up and walked to June’s bed and turned her light off but not before grabbing her book and putting something in it so she wouldn’t lose her place in the book and placed the book on her night table beside her. I grabbed the blanket that was by June’s feet and extended it out and covered her entire body. Within seconds I started to experience deja vu. The memories of every time I’d tuck bash in at night started to surface. Every time he had a bad dream, every time he got terrified and

The woman in me wants to hear that voice again and again. “Papers, Lisa.” He growled the word, and I flinched, snapping out of whatever stupid trance I’d fallen into. Fuck. I didn’t even realize I was staring like an idiot. I stretched out the files toward him. Our fingers brushed, just for a fraction, but an electric warmth shot up my arm so fast I stopped breathing. Heat bloomed under my skin at the accidental contact, and my stupid brain started wondering how his hands would feel on the rest of my body.

Don Bryant, who was standing nearby, asked anxiously, "Is there really nothing else that can be done to save Oliver, Cynthia?" I shook my head, replying calmly, "There's nothing that can be done, Don Bryant. You see, once someone is tainted by a black witch, the damage is irreversible. It's only a matter of time before his life force is completely drained. Your best course is to begin making funeral arrangements for Oliver now, Don Bryant." Having said that, I took William's hand and walked away, deliberately ignoring the heart-rending cries of despair that erupted from Oliver behind us. …

I took Ava and ran. We had seconds. Fire alarms screamed. Men shouted. The house went into a frenzy, and in that chaos we found the service exit we needed. Metal clanged. Feet pounded. I shoved Ava into the car and slammed the door. The engine roared. The shadow in the doorway watched us leave. Isabella lay on the floor, the files scattered like a cemetery. She looked up. The bullet had not killed her. It had cut deep. Her eyes were steady now. “Burn it,” she told me, voice thin. “Burn it all.”

All that was missing in Christle's explanation was an example to extinguish the perspectives of Nigerians who believed that dead people could survive in any form including handwriting. Again, I looked at the exercise book with Danny's handwriting for some time before making a decision to burn it. Even though it had some important formulas that were copied from a large textbook with a lot of references, I wasn't concerned about redoing the work again. I wasn't concerned about borrowing the textbook from Goodness, finding the formulas and copying it all over again. What mattered the most was getting rid of the book and its contents as soon as possible. I took a match box from my drawer after d

His weight tilted the bus, making a branch snap and speeding up the bus' descent. Now, even without violating any protocols, the bus could last for at most an hour. An emergency response team that was farther away would take around 40 minutes to arrive. Although the time would be tight, at least some of the passengers could be rescued. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was a call from Kyle Walker, a member of the nearby fire department and Jared's classmate. He often came over to eat with us.

Selene read it three times, but each time she understood it less rather than more, just as Moira's answers always did, like a box that opened only to reveal another box, smaller and more tightly shut than the one before. That night she burned the letter in the fireplace, watching the paper curl and turn black before finally crumbling into ash, and realized, with a bitterness that surprised her because it was so profound, that she had in effect exchanged one fire for a life which had been made up almost entirely of things which she had never really been allowed to understand fully, and that Moira, no matter what else she might have been, had never at any time intended that situation to be alt