Poem Book Pages Mga Nobela at Kwento

Flipping to the next page, I try to see if there's any indication of a title, since neither the front page nor first page have one. I don't see anything of the sort. Instead, I find a paragraph of ink marks that look similar to the one on the first page. "Is this a joke?" I flip to the next page and find the same handwriting, but the text in this one looks longer. Groaning, already starting to get irritated by the seemingly pointless search, I flip through some more pages, hoping that I find something meaningful. Rather, most of the pages of the book are blank. Just bare sheets of paper.

Smaller ones, thin like an old bible, yellowed with page break apart. Once there pages were successfully separated, I carefully put the knife down, not wanting to slice any pages or myself. The pages smelt like mould and looked ancient, they looked like they would be grimy to the touch but they felt like silk. The amount of small little pages were like a book of their own, how could this be hidden away for so long and no one notice it?

Both were really awkward at each other at first but when they found out that both were reading the same book, they eventually got a comfortable to talk at each other. “So, you also read that book-” “Yeah, I got into it after a friend of mine recommended it to me.” “Isn’t it a great book.” “Yeah, I got hooked on it after reading the first chapter.” “bla-bla-bla” Both continued to talked to each other and enjoyed their conversation. “I was feeling an awkward atmosphere growing between our table so I was gonna try to start a conversation but when you brought out your book, I was just surprised to see a person reading it.” The girl said.

I returned a favoring smile to her by doing it genuinely before I took the book on her soft palm, an almost thick book with a blue cover. The book is heavy. On the front cover, there is a closed eye with long black thick lashes in a form of feathers placed inside a pentagon. Outside the badge has a wonderful abstract ocean and sunrise. Below it, golden embossed letters are shining to make its cover spectacular: BOOK OF A ZONER "Begin reading from page two to page five," Psyche said to me, stopping me in amazement. So I did what she wanted me to do. I flipped the pages until I reached the second page of the book. I started reading what's on it.

Pulled the book out. It was a slim volume of poems. Contemporary, literary, the sort of thing that wins prizes and sits unread on most people's shelves. But this copy had been read. The spine was cracked at multiple points, and when I opened it, the pencil marks were everywhere — single words underlined, question marks in the margins, occasionally a longer note in handwriting that was smaller and more controlled than I expected. Sharp. Precise. I sat in the worn reading chair and opened to a marked page and read.

The fading words on the front page hinted at its age and the countless hands that must have turned these pages over the years. "This book is very special. Anytime a new moon goddess arrives, more pages seem to be added to the book, it says why a wolf was chosen. Her wolf design and what her test is like. I know that you would find it very interesting!" Star explained while I flipped the first page of the book and it crackled in brittle. The revelation that the book somehow adapted to the arrival of a new moon goddess sent shivers down my spine. It was as if the book itself was a living, evolving entity, intimately connected to the moon goddess and her chosen one. The crackling of the pages a

"Ninety-five. Too short. One hundred fifteen. Too long. One hundred five. Getting warmer. One hundred nine. Colder. Okay, here it is. A Girl and a Dog. One hundred pages." Jane walked up and down the shelves, half looking at the titles, half looking at nothing. "Here's another one," Emily called over to her in a loud whisper. "A horse of Her Own. Exactly one hundred pages. Do want it? Or do you want A Girl and a Dog instead?" Jane shook her head. "It sounds like a children's book." "It looks like a short book. Okay, here's another one. One hundred and three pages. There's a dog on the cover too."

“...under the cold sun, there comes a fair lady falling from the sky. The maiden lay there basking under the heated sun, upon her arrival, the trees made way. A huge gust of wind came waving in arc, cutting everything it touches. The tree…” The words after that were faded by the multiple words it got mashed up in before this page. It probably got wet and the ink went through some of the pages. I flipped through the pages of the book gently, and all of the words were mashed up together with the words before the page just like the old yellowish paper I’m holding. I opened the other books, not minding the dust that flew in each book I opened. They had the same condition – faded, ink mashed up t

Not yours. NO AUTHOR TRAPPED ETERNALLY, I wrote on the title page. The book snapped shut in my hands like it had been slammed from the inside. Two volumes down the row jerked off the shelf and spun in the air, pages riffling wildly as if panicked. Loose leaves broke free, fluttering like frantic birds before bursting into static.

Satisfied, I was about to close it when something caught my attention. The page numbers. I frowned. Page forty-three... Followed by... Forty-six. I turned back. Then forward again. Forty-three. Forty-six. The pages hadn't fallen out. They had been cut out. Cleanly. Almost professionally. I ran my fingertips lightly along the inner binding. There was no mistaking it. Several sheets had once been there. Now... They weren't. I sat back slowly. Perhaps... It had simply been damaged. Books this old were bound to lose pages eventually.