Re Reading Novels & Stories

How low I had come to be? Hello dear readers, to see the changes after edit, you have to re-add the book to your library. Thanks.

he said. "Yes," she said. She opened it to the first page and turned it so they could both see and they leaned toward it in the way they both leaned toward things that required reading — forearms on the table, the particular angle that meant you were taking it seriously. She had not reread it since the morning. She was curious, now that he was beside her, what it would be like to read it as a document rather than as a recovered piece of herself. It was funnier than she had expected.

He tilts his head, looking unimpressed. “Again?” he says. “Isn’t this like your fourth reread?” “Seventh,” I correct him, flipping a page. “Don’t judge me. Some of us actually have healthy coping mechanisms.” “Some of us,” he echoes, grabbing the book and flipping it upside down, “should maybe try reading something that doesn’t have glowing-eyed men on the cover.” “Jealous because you don’t have glowing eyes?” I tease. “I have glowing eyes, Daisy.” “Humor me,” I roll my eyes. Hard.

I slid into the driver’s seat, closed the door, and the world fell silent. I took out my phone, opened the article, and read it again. The second reading felt different from the first. The first time, I skimmed quickly, grasping the structure and main points. The second time, I read slowly, sensing the undertones between the lines. The writer of this piece was no amateur.

I repeated. Reed nodded once. He did not add anything to it. He understood that the words did not need decoration. I sat with it. The torch between us threw its pale light upward and the storage room held its cold around us and I turned the information over the way I had been turning things over since the first morning of this second life. Methodically, without letting the fear that was sitting in my chest move into my hands or my face.

His voice trails off, his eyes distant as he relives the memory. Sensing his hesitation, I give him a reassuring nod, silently urging him to continue. “What happened with the last letter, Miles?” I prompt gently, and my curiosity is now fully piqued. Miles takes a deep breath, steeling himself before speaking. “It felt like I had to open it,” he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper. “And when I did… well, we all know what happened.” His words hang heavy in the air, the weight of his confession casting a somber pall over the conversation.

June 2040 Kara's POV: It's staring at me, like literally staring. I shouldn't have done it. Why did I take the stupid book? I hope to God he doesn't notice, but what if he does? I highly doubt that he writes in a diary every day. But then again, I shouldn't assume. I'm tempted to read it. I should read it, or else what the hell was the point in taking it? It's a thick black leather book. It looks somewhat worn, but largely unused. It's probably just filled with gaming or sports stuff.

She was still at her desk at seven forty-three PM. The office was quiet around her in the way it went quiet after everyone else had left, the particular quality of a building that had been full and was now empty, the air still carrying the faint residue of the day's activity — coffee and printer warmth and the specific low hum of computers that hadn't been shut down properly. She was supposed to be reviewing the Phase Two budget revision. She had read the same paragraph four times. She knew this because she had noticed herself reading it the second time and had made a deliberate effort to absorb it the third time and had failed and had read it a fourth time with the resigned acceptance of so

He said: "And I've already been shaped by eleven months of reading. Reading from the beginning now will be different than reading from the beginning in month one." She said: "Yes." He said: "I might find different things." She said: "You will." He said: "So I should read it again." She said: "You'll read it many times. Different things each time." He looked at his hands. He said: "Is that the practice?" She said: "That's the practice." He breathed. He said: "Alright." He went back to the archive room. He started from the beginning. She watched him go.

Running is not an option because it has been tried before and those who ran were always caught and killed. "Mother I am very aware of this. I know that you are all concerned in your way for me and I thank you for that. I will say that I know that there are many possibilities of what could happen to me, but I am tired of worrying over something that I have no control over. I wanted to enjoy the little bit of time that I had left. I have heard from the leaders of the village that this year there is only going to be one hundred males and females for the reaping, and out of that one hundred, only Michael is from this village. That means that most likely I will never be coming back here." I hear