Requiem For A Loud Novels & Stories

Her expression remained unchanged at my comment. “I don't mean it in a bad way. It was beautiful, truly. But for a hymn, it's a bit…depressing,” I said. “It's a Requiem,” she whispered, turning back to the keys. “Like Mozart's?” “Yes, but for the living.” “Don’t you think it's a bit too sad for the living?” I asked, genuinely curious.

At least now I could listen to Shekau's demands since Bia's eyes were no more present to play the guilt card on me. "I do not train cowards Amir and so does my patience run slim towards them," Shekau voiced again after the soldier had left with the girl and then I knew it was time, I had no other choice. In one pull, I tugged at the trigger and released it. My ears filled immediately with the tragic and terrifying sound of the gunshot as well as death itself. The whole space went still as all other sounds including the unceasing cries stopped after the bang.

"Came back to drop off your keys. Have fun." I dropped the keys on the table and walked out, tuning out the voices behind me. Out on the street, cars blurred past, lights flashing everywhere—and all I felt was cold. I couldn't see straight. Couldn't hear anything. Just like three years ago, when Vanessa and I first got together and ended up lost in the Goben Desert. We wandered for a full day and night, wrapped in silence. The only thing I could do was hold her hand. Back then, she signed, "If we die out here, at least it's a good ending for our love."

His name was Curtis, and he was the opposite of the quiet ghost that had been her real father. Curtis was loud, flashy, and unapologetically himself. He had a booming laugh that could fill a room and a love for big gestures—gold watches, muscle cars, backyard fireworks on the Fourth of July. He wore leather jackets in the summer and always had a story to tell, even if you didn’t ask for one. He called Lissa “kiddo” from the very start, and somehow, it stuck.

“Listening to this sound gives me a headache! This must be the most unpleasant sound in the world.” “Spectral song my *ss! Which lunatic gave it this kind of name? I’m going to kill that b*stard.” Aesop yelled, “What’re you complaining about? Go get the clock first!” The demon tribe attacked once again. Bong! Another loud buzz rang out. The Requiem Clock once again made a sound full of compulsion. This magical treasure was so amazing that it could clear Alex’s mind and get rid of the negative mental attacks, but it could also be used against the enemies to inflict psychological trauma on them.

I wrenched the gun away, the butt crashing into his temple, and he crumpled. The last one stood frozen, gun shaking. I approached, steady and slow. "Please, don't kill me..." he pleaded, retreating. "Ah, she never learns," I muttered to myself. I wiped the gun I had picked up from the ground and, without a second thought, squeezed the trigger. His eyes bulged as he collapsed into a growing crimson pool. I strolled back to the wedding car, tapping on the window. The driver, still white as a sheet, swung the door open.

I joined his side, “The Muses probably saw how devoted your family was to their music that they decided to grant you a position among them.” He blinked and hurried back over to the shelf, “Wait. That logic could apply to you as well.” “Meaning?” I sat on the window seat. He pulled out another thick book and brought it over to me, “Ser Struan probably saw something in you or your music and found you worthy of him.” “But I get sick every time I play perfectly,” I shook my head. He set the book in my lap, “Yes and you also can’t hear the notes you play, Ser Struan is the Muse of Soundless Harmony, remember? Perhaps he felt your illness and decided to release you of your pain.”

So it bothers you after all. They both spoke in hushed tones, wary of prying ears outside. A knock on the restroom door startled them. Mandy's voice came through. "Why is this door locked? Jasper, how is she? You must get her to the hospital for a check-up, pronto."

, we stepped into Arena. Inside, the club buzzed. Music roared, lights flashed like paparazzi, and sweat and laughter thickened the air. The massive dance floor was already packed, the bar lined with bodies thirsty for a good time. VIP booths framed the edges, glowing under soft neon. It was loud, chaotic, perfect. First stop: drinks. Everyone picked something different, but I? I went straight for the Long Island Iced Tea. I needed the burn tonight. I needed to feel something fast, something reckless and loud and alive. And so began the cycle: drink, dance, drink, dance. Repeat.

Tristan ordered Britney to play some music wanting to ease the tension. Tristan remained with the rest for a few hours before he left the crowd. He found Callie laying down in the treatment room looking vacantly into nothing. She frowned when she noticed him standing there. “Up.” He ordered her. Callie sat up slowly and it looked like she was still a little dizzy. She managed to get to her feet. “Let’s go.” She had a lumpy bruise on her temple and a cut there. The nurse had cleaned it up nicely.