Penelope Park Novels & Stories

My gut has never lied. Andy turned to Charles, tone clipped and deadly. “I want a full report. Everyone who had access. Every login. Every passcode. Give me a name—tonight.” Penelope rose quietly, brushing imaginary lint from her silk pants. “Well, I have a meeting to get to,” she said lightly. “Can’t waste my time on ghost footage.” Her heels clicked as she walked away, shadow long behind her. But in her mind, she smiled. They’d never find it.

I started to pay attention in the direction that I heard the sound. “Hello?” I ask loudly. “There’s anybody here?” I ask once again, loudly. As I’m about to return to my books thinking it could just be my imagination when I notice a petite girl hiding behind one of the bookshelves, it seems that she’s afraid of me?. “Hey! That’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” I try to reason with her. “My name is Pandora, what’s yours?” I ask her with a sweet smile. “I’m Penny” Her answer came off like a whisper.

Penelope is fighting kicks and slaps with a vending machine on the first floor, and she doesn't realize that I'm by her side until she fights around and bumps into me. "Do you think this ridiculous machine stole five dollars from me? "She pushes back one of the loose strands of her hair, and with the other hand recovers from the bag a metallic canteen where she always keeps her Whisky. "How can I baptize my soda if I don't have a soda?” The machine plays a high-pitched sound when she kicks it again. The panel lights up, but nothing falls through the opening. Snorted, Penelope throws her head back and pours a generous amount of the liquid into her hands. The burning smell of the drink suddenl

“I stared at the girl who enticed me deeply. Though her clothes were wet because of the water that dripped from the clay pot on her head, she looked so beautiful. She resembles my dear late Nana, of whom I first saw the beauty of a black woman. She looked like a black angel. She had a portion of her plaited hair bound by a red ribbon, while the rest, fell about her arms, and even reached her waist. I have never seen a black woman with such an abundance of fine hair in my lifetime. She walked like a cat. I admire her more than any damsel I have ever seen. As fate happens, she turned around, and stared back at me. Our eyes met, her hazel-coloured eyes left me entranced, so I fell. Her pot of

"Careful, Rain. Or should I say… Penelope?" I froze mid-step and turned to her. "What did you just call me?" She pulled a photo from her clutch and handed it to me. My hands trembled as I looked at the image. It was of me—wrapped in the arms of a man who looked strikingly similar to Alex, both of us laughing and carefree. "This isn’t real," I whispered, my voice shaky. "See to believe," Gwen said with a smirk before sauntering away. I clutched the photo, my heart pounding. Who was Penelope? And why did she look exactly like me?

Mara & Elena – Dual POV Elena The scent of iron and pine was everywhere. It clung to our skin, soaked our clothes, and settled deep into the bones of the camp. For the first time in my life, Ashfang didn’t smell like home. It smelled like a battlefield waiting to be born. Mara and I stood in the war tent, hunched over the territory maps while lantern light flickered shadows across our faces. Her brow was furrowed, mouth set in a hard, unreadable line.

It's too big for a kid like her in this picture. Beside it was a picture of a woman who looks just exactly like Penelope, but she looks happier than Penelope. There was also picture of her and her daddy maybe? It's in Hongkong Disneyland, based on the background. Penelope is dressed as Snow White here. Very Innocent. There were other pictures but one thing caught my attention. It's Penelope and ZIA? THEY'RE FRIENDS?! I heard someone opening the door beside the table of picture frames. So I guessed that it is Penelope, obviously.

Penelope felt a familiar pang of jealousy – but she pushed it down, focusing on her goal. As Leo ran toward his friends, Mrs. Penelope moved closer to the playground, finding a spot on a bench under a large oak tree. She pulled out a small notebook and pen, pretending to work while she watched the children play. After a few minutes, she noticed Leo sitting alone on the edge of the sandbox, drawing pictures in the sand with a stick. She stood up and walked over to him, her face arranged in a warm, friendly smile. “Hello there, Leo. I’m a friend of your dad’s – we work together sometimes.”

I turned toward the window seats, preparing to make my way to my usual spot, when a voice stopped me. “You people must like running your mouths. If you used more of your brain cells than your mouths, the world might actually improve.” Everyone froze. That voice. I turned my head toward the doorway. Penelope leaned against the wall, her black bob tucked behind one ear. A small tattoo peeked out from her neck, and another curled around her wrist. She wore a cropped white top, tiny black shorts, and a bomber jacket. Her arms were crossed, and the look in her eyes could’ve set someone on fire.

And again. Penelope. Her ally. Her friend. Her co-conspirator. Vivienne had looked her straight in the eyes. And Penelope had walked away. Isolde didn’t knock. She stormed through the side entrance of the brownstone where Penelope kept her private apartment, an unassuming façade in Gramercy Park, charmingly deceptive, much like the woman herself. Penelope sat barefoot on her windowsill, wine in hand, as if expecting her. “You watched it,” she said simply, turning her head but not rising.