Remains Of The Day Kindle の小説・ストーリー

Happy Reading! Solange Daye

•|•|• There she comes! See how the dark days cease? A mate for one, a savior for us all. •|•|• [Kayos Adren Prime] Tucked away behind countless rows and aisles, I work quietly, a calm silence around me. A pristine comfort, warmth I revel in. Focused, I straighten piles of books beneath the dull flicker of candlelight. Silver rings gleaming beneath the yellow glow. Alchest scampers by shifting down the endless rows of books neatly stacked in piles down the wide oak table.

Outside, Kaelen was already awake, standing by the well, watching the horizon. I reached under my pillow and pulled out the leather-bound journal. I hadn't opened it in a long time. I turned to the very last page—the one Roshan had left blank. I picked up a charcoal pencil from the vanity and wrote a single line. Day 1,826. The morning is beautiful. And for the first time, I am not alone in it. I closed the book and walked outside. The sun was peaking over the hills, turning the world into a sea of gold. I took a deep breath, the air filling my lungs with the sweetness of the south.

The book had done very well. I had walked out of the dark of all of it. Eventually, I moved to a city by the sea. There was no Mason there. There was just my future, and it was bright.

Ernest looked at Don's profile — the January light on his face, the specific quality of the thirty-first year Don, the Don with thirty years of the arrangement in his face, the lines that had accumulated the way the journal's pages had accumulated, the evidence of the building in the body. He thought: we have built this. The ordinary day is the building. The ordinary day is the measure. The fourth book will be the argument that the ordinary day is enough. Not the significant events. Not the achievements. Not the markers that the world recognizes. The ordinary day. The morning coffee. The bread Wednesday. The Thursday walk. The journal entry. These are enough. These are the buildings. These a

Then I say it slowly and with much thought, “Yes, I do. I don’t think I will ever get over you. But, under the conditions you wanted me to live, I cannot. I refuse to share you with anyone, and I certainly don’t wish to have anyone else. That is a fact. So, if you feel that I am not good enough, and you need to have more than one, I am not your woman.” “Kaitlyn.” He says and then his voice trails off. He looks at me again with those eyes filled with hurt and I realize finally that I must leave before he wins. Opening the door, I get out and walk quickly to the office. As I enter the building, Mr. Sandhill stares at me and then approaches. Crap! I am late and he has no idea why. Now,

Tyson smirked. “31 Days.” Chance affirmed. “Which Day was today”? He asked. “Ninth.” Dr. Tyson added. “Twenty two days to go, man I am gonna savor these.” with a devilish smirk, Chance declared.

But before things could go further, their desire was already leaving for his office, not bothering to even look at them. Man Hae, like every time, was already so done with their “eyestalk”, and headed back to her table, not forgetting to greet back every one passing by, with a warm “seeming” smile, coming straight from the brain rather than heart, cause why not, after all, she is not at a place to be cold or ignore any one of those which she has to work with, and why involve heart when they are not at all at someplace for her to do so. And with this all, the normal, just normal day of CLAD started, with everyone being drowned; some in the figure, and some in facts

"You're looking at me weird. Do I have something on my face?" I shook my head. My emotions were churning violently, but I forced them to stay in check. The moment she was out of earshot, I pulled a pen out of the bag and wrote something on a piece of paper. … Two hours later, everything I'd written was gone. I tried the other pen, only for it to end up showing the same thing. This wasn't something I had seen coming. I couldn't believe that Zoe had truly given me disappearing ink pens. That could only mean everything my future self said was true.

I've scribbled ideas across three pages already. Spicy ramen. Fire and ice. Sweet and sour. None of them feels right anymore. How do you plate betrayal? How do you season panic attacks? How do you garnish trust that's already been shattered? I bite my lip. Maybe agreeing to the hundred days had been a mistake. Maybe I'd simply been too exhausted to keep fighting. I flip another page, trying to focus on recipes instead of emotions. At least food makes sense. People don't. My phone vibrates on the vanity. I barely glance at it. But it’s enough for me to notice the message on the screen.