Pocketbook Holders Novels & Stories

He carefully wrapped the canvas pieces together with strips of fabric he tore from his own clothes. His most precious find, however, was a cache of dried berries and seeds. He recognized some of them from his childhood – hardy plants that survived even the harshest conditions. These would offer a meager source of sustenance during his journey. He meticulously stored them in the pockets of his jacket and secured his metal bucket and canvas patches to his backpack, every piece of his scavenged hoard precious. He even managed to salvage a broken piece of mirror, reflecting only a distorted image, yet invaluable for checking his condition.

I waved both of my hands, hoping she would know that I am grateful. "Oh right, I forgot..." She said before she reached in to the front pocket of her pink apron. The woman pulled out a pink mini notebook with a snap button and a small pen tucked in the gap of the strap. "Here." She said as she offered me the notebook. Accepting the book with both of my hands, I looked down at it with confusion. "I thought it might come in handy. Besides it's small enough to fit in to a wide pocket so you can carry it anywhere." The woman said.

I said. "And the outside pocket," he said. "For the survey notebook." "Yes," I said. He looked at the sketch. He touched the outside pocket drawing. "Flat so it doesn't bulk," he said. "Yes," I said. "So I can tell what page I'm on without taking it out," he said. I looked at him. "Can you?" I said. "I can feel the page through the cover," he said. "If the pocket is flat enough." He paused. "The current coat has a round bottom pocket. The notebook gets lost in it."

He nods and leans to the side, pulling something out of the large hidden pocket he had down his leg. “I assume you know how to use a book and inkhold?” Tearing out the front pages he hands me a small hardcover book, bound with leather and rope, as well as what reminded me of a pen but I had to assume it was a modified bird feather, similar to how people used quills, just without the ink in a pot or the fluffy touch. Funnily enough, I don’t hesitate to take it and start writing notes about some of the things I have heard about today.

"I didn't expect you to turn so many heads tonight. Do you know how many people asked me about you?" "Dad, I'm not worried about finding someone. Let's be honest, most of them aren't sincere—they're after the money. I don't want any of that." He nodded knowingly. "Alright. If someone suitable comes along, it's up to you." I was about to respond when I noticed a figure standing by my building. Neil. Scattered cigarette butts littered the ground at his feet—he'd clearly been waiting a while. My dad's face tightened as we pulled up. He didn't say anything, but his cold look said plenty. "You two talk. I'll head inside."

Meaning, how much their worth. Oh yes, they still use pouches in this world, or that’s what Jai noticed. He preferred using his wallet though. He brought his wallet with him when he transmigrated here, but it sat idly in the drawer in his room just like his old clothes. He wondered if wallets had already been invented or not, knowing that paper money had already been invented. These papers were obviously folded in the pouch. But luckily, the designer of the pouch was smart enough to install two spaces inside the bag to store two kinds of currency.

That is what I am starting to believe, and I think Pierce has done so for some time. “Got it?” He pushes off the doorframe, extending his arm out for me to take. “Yep, got it.” “A shoebox with stickers on?” “No, it’s my memory box…with…” I pull the lid off, reaching in for my Mum’s small black leather pocket book. It had every contact, every business deal, every bank account in her name…including every password. “This.” “And what is this?” He asks, sceptical of the small book in my hand.

The better to blend with shadows. On his feet were laced Nikes, all the better to run in. Because pockets weren't exactly plentiful-and ruined the line of his suit-he tossed his wallet, phone, and keys inside the trunk for his car. But before he shut the lid, he leaned in to grab an ornate box. Less box and more a coffin for ashes. Roderick's ashes. No matter how many times he did this over the years, the thought of what he had to do wasn't any more palatable. He flipped the lid and grimaced. The gray, ashy contents exuded a burned-pork-roast aroma. When human, he'd preferred beef.

The card stock is dirty and a little crumpled, but still plenty readable. Next, I take hold of my backpack, pulling it toward me. My cell phone—another thing I thought I’d never see again—is in the front pocket exactly where I put it what feels like a million years ago but was really less than a week ago. An even more unexpected sight is the stack of money from H&H tucked in next to my phone. Looks like I can bring some benefit to the pack after all. I chuckle and make a note to myself to give the cash to Julian.

I stood up, my gaze drifting down to admire the way the heels elongated my legs, creating a stunning line from hip to toe. Next, I reached for my small, sleek clutch bag, its black leather exterior gleaming in the soft light. I opened the delicate silver clasp and slipped my phone, lip balm, and credit cards inside. The clutch was just large enough to hold the essentials, its compact size perfect for a night out.