Shelf Awareness Novels & Stories

There was a leather couch in the corner, a bar cart with expensive-looking bottles of whiskey, and a window that overlooked the estate grounds. It was the kind of room that screamed power and control. The kind of room that belonged to a man like Jonathan Hart. I walked over to the bookshelves, running my fingers along the spines. Most of them were business books, biographies of CEOs and politicians, a few on philosophy. Then I noticed something odd. One of the shelves looked… different. Like it didn’t quite sit flush with the wall. I reached out and pressed against it gently. There was a soft click, and the shelf swung inward.

I headed towards the warehouse, praying it did not have any humans for sale. The warehouse was one story, but big. It had 6 different rooms that were used for stores. Above each door was a name. Food, Clothes, Shoes, Products, Jewels, and Pleasure. I looked at the last door. What did it mean by pleasure. I walked towards the door, wanting to get a look inside. Helium grabbed my shoulder stopping me before I opened it.

She pointed at the left shelf display of bags that holds about 2 dozen pieces. " A dozen shoes, a dozen sandals and a dozen slippers. " And she pointed at the display of limited edition footwears. " What else? Ah, accessories! " And Chloe went over the display of accessories leaving Lydia still on her knees all by herself. Rob Fuller went over her and helped her stand up and they both went at the corner. The Solstice's staff were all rattled by all the orders Chloe is making. They've been going out and about the stock room to fulfill Chloe's orders.

Scratched hardwood creaks beneath my boots as I cross the small lobby and venture further into the dim store. The cash register sits in a central spot, with tall shelves radiating outward. Once I reach the register, I realize I can see down every aisle—a pretty clever arrangement for theft prevention. A tall, willowy woman with thick black hair pulled back in a braid and a brightly colored dress wrapped around her lean form stands halfway down one of the aisles with an inventory cart. She’s sliding a book onto a shelf as I lock my gaze on her, and she stiffens, then slowly turns her head toward me.

Lewis's p.o.v "There are disks over there on the shelf, I have prepared everything for you, I'm sure you can find whayou are looking for. If you want you can get them. And here are the keys." The security guard said while handing them to me. "Okay thanks," I answered then got the keys and went to the shelf. I browsed through the shelf with a smile because I believed I didn't lay a hand on Sharon. The security guard stood up and moved closer.

Retail therapy is what helps her best. She saw a cute cherry keychain hanging on the display and instantly picked it up. “Oh, this one is cute.” She looked around more and found a black dinosaur-shaped bag. “Ah! So cute!” Leila tried to hang the keychain on the dino-shaped bag and saw that it fit perfectly. The red cherry was the pop of color on the all-black bag that she picked. A sales associate approached her and asked, “That’s a cute one, miss! You can fit a few small stuff inside the bag, but still, it’s cute.”

Mr Sharma nodded to the door behind her. Claire smiled thankfully and disappeared into what seemed to be a storeroom of sorts. It looked as though it was filled with mostly junk, but Claire was sure she recognised a pair of delicate porcelain vases that were on a shelf near the door. It was a bit odd that he had all this stuff at his house, but perhaps Mr Sharma was still getting the stock back into the newly reopened charity shop.

The thought is a small, bitter comfort because nothing stings like betrayal. My gaze slides left and locks on the bookshelf. Old wood, a little scuffed, shelves stuffed with returned paperbacks and a few knick-knacks, mismatched bookends, a ceramic owl, a stack of defunct menus someone shoved in a hurry. The bottom shelf sags, the base leaning a fraction out from the wall. Whoever stocked it last time did a sloppy job. It is not anchored. My brain flips through possibilities like cards, fast and clean.

I read aloud from the list. Levi scanned the shelves and pulled it down. “Got it.” “Shadebell.” Another jar joined our basket. “Crimson Thyme and Wolfsfoot,” I added. He moved efficiently, like he knew this place well. Finally, I looked at the last item. “Starlace.” We both scanned the shelves. Nothing. Levi frowned. “Not here.” We approached the counter. An older man stood behind it, flipping through a leather-bound ledger. He looked up with a warm, sort of tired smile.

He descended the sloping floor into the auditorium, to stand before the first wall of mattresses. The stacks reached about six or seven feet, each mattresses varying in thickness. Each mattress was also affixed with a tag, on which, in neatly printed script, was listed the price and the brand. Each tag was also annotated as either ‘new’, ‘hardly used’, or ‘used’. The tags themselves more than anything else made the whole situation feel surreal. So utterly prosaic. Mundane. Normal. Neatly printed letters and numbers. Shane wondered, as he walked in either direction, if the neatly hand-printed sales tags would slowly morph into insidious messages of evil and malice, made all the more horrible