Read One Poece Novels & Stories

He couldn't move yet—only lie flat on the bed, his arms too weak to lift. After washing her hands, Adriana took out her e-reader. "I'll read to you. What would you like to hear?" His lifeless gaze remained fixed on the pale ceiling, his voice hoarse. "Read me some poems by Lowoe." "Okay." Adriana took a sip of water and cleared her throat. She didn't use the e-reader often—it was mostly Chris who read from it. When she opened The Collected Poems of Lowoe, she saw he had already read nearly half of it.

The children were arranged in the front row, Emma and Jack sitting with solemn ceremony, Marcus in Clara's arms, Leo standing slightly apart with his piece of paper, already reading it silently to himself with moving lips. The officiant spoke briefly. Then he invited Leo to read. Leo unfolded his paper and cleared his throat with the self-consciousness of a thirteen-year-old performing in front of adults, which passed quickly once he started reading. He had written the poem himself, which Chloe had not known and which Lucien, judging by his expression, had also not known. It was not a polished poem. It had an uncertain metre and one rhyme that did not quite work, and it was, without question

Now she was inhaling and exhaling frantically as she eyed the kn*fe thinking of ways to gently pull it out. “D*mn it hurts like hell. Why make me suffer if you only want me dead?” she complains as she looks up. The rain is still pouring heavily and it begins to hurt her eyes the more she keeps staring. She decided to stop struggling and kept them close. "It's futile anyway, let me have one sweet dream just this once." It sounded more like a fervent prayer than a request. *** "Welcome home sweet pea." Her mom kisses her left cheek and ushers her to the dining table. Then gets back to the kitchen counter. "I cooked your favorite for dinner."

Hana looked at Daisy and asked, "Is that my phone?" Daisy was like a dying fish, nodded, “listen.” Hana took the phone and pressed the button to listen but took upside, “Hello, who are you? I don’t know you. Go” Hana turned it off. Don’t forget to scold “crazy.” Hana took the phone with two fingers. Fell it on the table, covered in water. Daisy glanced Hana through the bottles of wine, her mumbling voice “It’s out of order.” Hanna slapped Daisy's shoulder, “Wake up and drink more. Humans will die soon or late, what about things?”

“You try.” “Why?” “Because if it opens for you I am going to kill you.” “That seems fair.” I put my thumb on the reader. Red. “Happy?” “Not remotely.” —- Killian crouched down in front of it. No keypad. No mechanical lock. No override panel. Nothing at all except the reader and the brass strip beneath it. He wiped the dust off with his sleeve. There were words engraved into it. Not many. He read them first. And went completely still.

Ugh, let's leave it all to miny moe! I clutched hard on the wheels and closed my eyes tightly as I started to sing in a whisper while pointing the screen with my finger. "Eeny meeny miny moe, which of the two should I go...for??" My hands started to shake as I felt a cold sweat dripping down on my forehead. I gulped and opened my eyes slowly, my eyes opening wide in nervousness before calming as I read the word that I had pointed with my finger. "Automatic."

𝙸 𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙾 𝚁𝙴𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙲𝙴 𝙼𝚈 𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙿𝚂 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚃𝙾 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙸 𝙲𝙰𝙼𝙴 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼. "𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙻𝙾𝚂𝚃?" 𝙸 𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽𝙴𝙳 𝙰𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳 𝚃𝙾 𝚂𝙴𝙴 𝙰 𝚃𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙲𝚄𝙻𝙰𝚁 𝙵𝙸�

Here is the content of the chat. Zero: "Good morning, my future. Are you still able to hold your miss for me?" Zeva wanted to reply, "No, I can't afford it. I really miss you. Come on, please, hurry back here." However, Zeva's sense of prestige is very large to be able to type those sentences. In the end, Zeva just chose to read it, without replying. Zeva wants to know whether Zero will be grumpy and spam-chat her or not.

Enjoy the read, guys ! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The blush of first glances, the ivory of promises made, the wine of love shared. Seriously? A poem. No name. No signature. Just a fucking poem. I read it again slower. Then once more, because really? A four line poem? Whoever this client was, he clearly liked games. Lucky for him, I needed one. I smiled faintly, folding the note before tucking it back into the box to take home. “Alright, mystery man,” I murmured. “Let’s play.”