Slow Down By Loose Ends Novels & Stories

And I want more of them. She looked at him across the table. She said: I'm scared of how much I want this to work. He said: so am I. That seems about right. She almost laughed. He said: we can take it slow now. Whatever slow means for us. There's no urgency anymore. We don't have to build something fast before someone takes it apart. We can just — build. She held onto that.

I announce before leaving the room leaving everyone in shock. I sigh audibly while trudging towards my room, this day is getting crazier by the minute I can't wait for tomorrow's note sarcastic term there'.

I wanted to please her so much and I slowed down until it seemed like I was barely moving. “Yes…like that,” Sage said with her eyes closed. The slowness was taking an aching toll on my hips as I obeyed.My head was swimming in some sort of dazed ecstasy as I eased out of her. My tip was almost out before she ordered me to go back in again. “Now, ease back into me the same way you entered me.” I breathed in a weary tone. Her instructions seemed easy enough but the tension in my body and the slowed down rhythmic movement was difficult to maintain because my hands were clasped behind my back. It was hard to keep balanced but I dared not disobey.

I stepped into it physically, pressing my shield against the gap, voice steady. “Lock.” The word traveled faster than panic. Shields snapped together. Feet dug in. The enemy pushed harder. For a moment, the world narrowed to pressure and breath and the sound of wood straining against wood. Then it stabilized. They felt it too—the failure of momentum. The shove lost conviction. Slowly, carefully, they disengaged. Not defeated. Reassessing. The fog began to thin as they pulled back, revealing scattered shapes retreating downslope, ropes trailing behind them like abandoned thoughts.

Too many responsibilities. Tea looked up at the scorching sun, squinting to look at the clouds. She listened to the birdsong that charmingly danced against her eardrums. She wiped the sweat off her perspiring forehead then rubbed it on her dirty, muddy vest which covered only her chest. She walked towards the corner of the still dirty floor and left the broom there, already weary from her hard work. The half-finished roof sheltered her from the heat and brought with it a refreshing coolness that satiated her body’s rising temperature. Her bright green eyes fluttered before coming to a stop at the curve of her cheek. And sleep came like a hunter closing on its prey. She dreamed. And when her

“Shard: sound peg. Net: slipping by half a beat. Children: hold for three breaths.” She sits beside me. We don’t say anything grand. This day was about order, not heroics. Her hand slides onto the back of mine; her fingers come to rest on my wrist. “Interesting,” she says softly. “Since we’ve kept the rhythm, the house isn’t just quieter. It’s smaller. Manageable.” “That was the goal,” I reply. “To make big things into small concerns. Small concerns you can solve.” “And the sound peg?” she asks.

Those simple sentences kept echoing in Emmett's mind. All at once, it felt like he had been cursed. Those words echoed in his mind so much that a sharp pain spread across his forehead. The immense pain left him devoid of any strength. With a loud thud, his phone fell and slammed onto the table. Unfortunately, Emmett had tied the candlesticks with thin threads to ensure an even distance between each. One candlestick fell, pulling on the threads and causing the others to fall over, too. Hot flames spread onto the dead leaves and feathers on the ground. It then traveled toward the wooden dominoes.

Jake stepped in next. Didn’t outperform them. Didn’t simplify it. He made it worse— on purpose. No one said it out loud. But all of them felt it. No one leading. No one following. Not toward anything. Just— outward. Eventually, the energy dipped. Naturally. No crash. No abrupt stop. Just— slowing. They dropped down where they were. Grass slightly uneven beneath them. Close again— not touching this time, but near enough that it could happen easily.

he says. “No.” The room feels lighter. Not safe. But unlooped. Time surges once more, desperately attempting to reapply the moment. The musket crack echoes faintly in the distance. It does not materialize. The fall does not reoccur. The script has lost efficiency. Repetition is no longer guaranteed. The air settles. Time withdraws abruptly. Not confused now. Threatened. Because recurrence has been broken. Not through force. Through refusal to complete. Thomas steps closer.

I’m building a staircase out of sensation. "How much longer?" I pant. "90 seconds remaining. You are drifting. Focus." I imagine the door opening. I imagine running. I imagine Harlan’s face when we escape. My hips buck involuntarily. "Steady," Echo warns. "Too fast. Slow down." I force my hand to slow. It’s agonizing. I want to rush it. I want to get it over with. "40 seconds," Echo counts down. "Prepare for the spike."