Short Novels Novels & Stories

The moon's faint glow passed through them, coloring them white from grey. The cool monsoon air carried a sweet moist scent like a candy shop kept inside a refrigerator. The pattering of the rain, which was now deaf to ears, was interrupted time by time during the night. Once a car passed by. Stray dogs began barking, while the deafening music from the car echoed around the street. The car soon disappeared and the dogs stopped barking satisfied that they had scared the car away. Later, a taxi came down the road and parked. A bunch of young kids came out laughing emphatically. The taxi drove away but the children stood at the corner of the lane, yet laughing vigorously. A man screeched out fro

Chapter One: Soft Moans The bonfire had died down to glowing embers by ten-thirty. The kids, eighty-something tenth- and eleventh-graders from Elites High, were finally zipped into their sleeping bags inside the cluster of army tents we’d pitched along the clearing. Ghost stories had turned to giggles, then yawns, then silence. Díckson and I had done the last sweep together: flashlights sweeping across canvas walls, counting heads, making sure no one had snuck off to smoke or worse.

Hi, everyone! This is Curvy Writes, and first things first: I need to take a deep, dramatic bow and then just collapse on the nearest couch. Because, people, we did it! I just want to say a massive, soul-hugging, confetti-tossing THANK YOU to every single one of you who has been reading my short story, "In Her Skin." Seriously, from the bottom of my slightly exhausted but extremely grateful heart, thank you. You guys have been the absolute best audience a writer could ask for.

~Liliana~ These days after the gala don’t really settle into anything smooth. They just keep going, one after another, in a way that still catches me off guard. Every morning Rebecca wakes me up the same way, her little hands grabbing my arm and shaking until I open my eyes. She always has some urgent job for us, like lining up her stuffed animals for a big fight or sneaking a few extra strawberries from the kitchen before anyone notices. I catch how she presses closer when we sit with picture books or when she’s trying to write her letters. I don’t rush her. I just let it happen.

And the silence hurts worse than anything. End of story 3

I removed it completely and tied it around her wrists, before pining it above her head. "Do you have any idea how long I have been waiting for you?" I growled as my tongue swirled around her tempting collarbone. Begging me to mark my territory but I managed to hold myself back. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting." She whispered, blue eyes boring deep into mine. "But you did." I hissed, yanking her shorts down to her ankle along with her thong. "You made me imagine how it would feel buried deep inside of you for hours."

A new beginning. “Sometimes,” I typed, “the bravest thing you can do is leave before you’re asked to stay.” I stared at the blinking cursor and smiled faintly. That sentence would become the first entry in what I started calling The Vanishing Diary—notes to myself, reminders of why I left, proof that I had survived. Because healing isn’t loud. It’s quiet. It happens between coffee cups and long walks, between small victories and lonely nights. It happens when you stop checking your phone to see if he called.

The first volume of Strange Short Stories is now available on a****n as an ebook and physical book! Why should I buy it if I can read for free here? -The book on a****n has an extra chapter and illustrations that are not available on wenovel or goodnovel. The book on a****n contains corrected and improved versions of all the stories, leading to a whole new reading experience! (I'm sorry to leave you with the old version, but I preferred not to get rid of the originals!)

I would then watch some milf p**n and get off before I went to bed. Opening my eyes, I cleared my mind and re-read the first half of the story. I then started to type. The first few sentences were forced, but as time went on, I caught on and my fingers started to blur across the keyboard. As always when I wrote I became immersed in the story and got more into than I had thought I would. When I typed the words "The End" I sat back and after rubbing my tired eyes was surprised to see it was ten fifteen.

Every so often the wind howled and the whole cabin creaked. After the second drink, the tension changed. Rachel had shed her sweater. She wore a tight thermal shirt that showed off full tits and a narrow waist. She caught me looking and didn’t call me on it. Instead she stretched her legs out toward the fire, socks off, toes wiggling. “This is ridiculous,” she said with a half-smile. “Two strangers trapped in a cabin like some bad romance novel.” “Could be worse,” I replied. “You could snore.”