Poem Book Pages Novels & Stories

“There are some things written there that will help you understand your new self.” “That huge book? Reading it sounds stressful already.” “The book just looks big,” the man smirked and he got up as well, “but the contents only fill the first few pages. The remaining pages are blank.” Zara frowned. At that point, to her, everything about that realm was confusing and unnecessarily extra. As she scoffed, she asked, “Why would anyone make such a page? The writer could have just packaged the first few pages and saved paper.”

Unlock it, and the empty pages shall be filled for you to read. I stare at the words for a long time. Read them again. And again. “What does that even mean,” I mutter under my breath. Within me. Unlock it. Empty pages. I flip to the next page. Blank. The one after that. Blank. I start flipping faster now. Page after page after page, all clean, untouched, mocking me with their silence. No hidden ink. No symbols. No diagrams. Nothing. Just white paper. My grip tightens on the book until my knuckles ache.

The impact made me flinch. “I want you to study that for as long as you are here,” he said calmly. I looked down at the book in my hands. It was old, its cover plain and worn. Slowly, I opened it then frowned. The pages were blank. Every single one. I flipped through them again, my confusion deepening. “I can’t find anything in it,” I said cautiously, glancing up at him before looking back at the empty pages. “There’s nothing written here.” “That’s because you opened the wrong page,” he replied, unfazed.

The book had an entire thirty-page chapter on soul resurrection but not soul fetching. Slightly annoyed, Levy started to look through the books again and this time much more carefully as she stared at each page until she was sure that she wasn’t missing anything finally she found what exactly was wrong at the end of the third book. “ Someone tore pages from this book,” murmured Levy as she ran her fingers through the rough yet very clean edge of the torn page. Whoever tore the pages of the book, did it very carefully… in fact, they did it so cleanly that Levy would’ve never found what was wrong with the book unless she carefully skimmed through each page.

He said before handing it over. The book was only a little larger than my palm, and the pages were so few that I frowned. Can this even be considered a book? Nevertheless, I flipped to the first page, only to see a blank space. But on the second page, I paused. It was a sketch of a black mark, very similar to the one on Lena's shoulder. There were no words written under the mark, so I flipped to the next page quickly. The next thing I saw was the mark staying in, and I furrowed my brows. On the next page, it was the same thing, and on the last page, what I saw was an enormous black wolf, having a hint of brown and white to its fur.

The first book was from January – March, the second was from April – June, then, July – September, and lastly October – December. [That one. Page 20. That one, page 63. That one, page 43. And that one, page 60.] Phantom who heard everything loud and clear helped Shadow to show what page that didn't match the number. She delivered just the way it was as Midas picked each book with fascinating expression.

Chloe opened the book and her eyes widened. This book... She scanned the pages and then let out a huff of disbelief. Why are there empty pages?

A circular pattern appeared like a watermark on the page, which was otherwise not visible under normal light. “Yes, it’s a passage book,” she said. “You see. These books are manufactured in a special way. A specific number appears at least more than 21 times in the book. Like in this book, 17 appeared again and again and on the 17th page was the pattern which, when drawn by a specific ink and quill, will open a passage to the Blank Space.” “Can you open it now?” King asked. “I can’t. I don’t have the ink or the quill to draw this,” she said.

“I’ve been working on just two.” “Finished yet?” “Nope. Almost. Wanna read it out for us?” The first few pages contain unintelligible scribbles that end halfway like he lost his train of thoughts. Some pages are cancelled. Calum flips to another page and stops. The entire page is covered with lyrics. The title of this one is tangled sheets. “Tangled sheet?” I murmur. “Yeah.” Calum’s blues hold mine and warmth shoots down to my core. I already have an idea what this song is all about. “You want to read it?”

Every page in that book carries the day's mess on it. That week has none. I turned back one sheet. Then forward two. The letters are the wrong shape. Not by much. Somebody has taken care over it, and somebody has had the book in front of them while they did it — the loops rounder, the pen pressed harder, and on the sheets either side of it that is not how the numbers get made. Nobody cut a page out of my book. Somebody copied a week out, wrote it again, and put their version back in.