Owen Windbreaker Novels & Stories

He began to tighten and then stopped. "Wait. I like this shirt.” He turned to the dragon. "Can Sam borrow yours?" I would have sworn the dragon rolled his eyes. "It's just a plain white T-shirt. You have a dozen." The dragon raised and lowered its head. "Thank you!" Owen lowered his backpack, rummaged through it, and returned with a folded white T-shirt. He waved his hand, and dirt and fur disappeared from me. He tossed me a T-shirt. She fit perfectly but was too short. I pulled it down, trying to cover my feminine charms. He laughed, what a bastard. “Trust me, George and I don't care."

No one wants a caramel-skinned noble with bald hair and, of course, a peculiar curse. I am aware that Owen just needs to disgrace me for the last time before I leave, and as I look at him now, he quickly replaces a frown with another wide grin, the tip of his pointed nose drooping down. He looks stylish in a shimmering velvety tailcoat, but I wish he never put the spangles on because they somewhat look like a child’s art on him. Orange hues had streaked across the sky when a crowd of young men and women in colourful attires flock in through the Iron gates, few of the men carrying a Palanquin on their shoulders.

The wind was blowing hard on Tuesday morning, the morning temperature was quite cold. The sky was not clear, gray clouds filled most of the blue sky like thick dust covering the television screen. The morning was a bit cloudy. Evie had been preparing since dawn, she stuffed what she needed into her backpack. Notebook, stationery, small towels, spare clothes, and some headache medicine. The headache medicine is just a backup. When tired, sometimes a headache whack. As usual she made time for breakfast with Olivia and her mother, the table made of thick glass was crowded with large plates of toast and bowls of cereal.

Lucas thoughtfully pointed his finger at Owen and moved it up and down. "With that clothes on?" Lucas asked in his husky voice. Owen detached his eyes from Lucas and looked down at his heavily drenched clothes. The clothes were tightly clinging to his skin. Instead of showing his strappy body, what was visible through the translucent white shirt was Owen's shrinking body. Owing to the cold weather and having a dip in the chilly waters of the lake caused goosebumps all over his body accompanied with shivering. His eyes fleeted from himself and looked at Lucas who said with a dry face, "Go get changed!"

The nickname 'Mood maker' suits her well. _ _ _ Must have been the wind Copyright © nostxlgicxx

It smelled like garlic and heat and work. Owen tied it around his waist. There was no going back now.

Owen smiles excitedly. “Did he?” Owen runs to the wardrobe and swings the doors open and starts pulling out sweaters and jeans. They’re the most beautiful clothes I have ever seen. “And shoes!” he shrieks. He runs over and grabs three boxes and pulls out a pair of black Nike high tops, and another two expensive pairs of runners. I stare at him as my brain freezes. Owen is so excited, and who am I to take this away from him? “That’s nice, baby,” I push out. “You’re a lucky boy.”

My heart sinks a little at the thought. Owen plops down beside Ant, grabbing the joint from my hand without a word. He takes a long drag, the smoke curling around him in the chilly air. The wind picks up, threatening to extinguish the flame, but Owen quickly covers the joint with his hand, protecting it from the elements. I watch him for a moment, his hair tousled from the wind, his eyes glazed over from the smoke. Despite the situation, I can't help but crack a smile at the absurdity of it all.

“Owen. Get up! The police are here for you!” Owen sits up so suddenly that it makes his head spin. Swinging his feet out of the bed, he doesn't even bother to get dressed, he just goes out there in his bare feet, pajama pants and tee shirt that Sunny had bought him last Christmas that says “I am a carpenter. Don't tell me your problems because I will build you a bridge and tell you to get the hell over it!”. Lacey had fussed at her daughter for it but Owen had loved it. He wears it all the time. Mostly around the house though, since he doesn't want anyone around town to know about his little hobby.

Elowen navigated it all like a windowpane breath—here, but not at all. Her movement upset nothing. Her sneakers, frayed at the edges, glided across the floor in quiet, tentative rubs that seemed almost to apologize for being there. Canvas grew thin at the toes, dirt hardened like obstinate shadows in the fabric. Her hoodie, oversized, sun-faded from secondhand machines, enveloped her frame. The sleeves fell over her hands, protecting her from touch.