Stumbling Monk Novels & Stories

Harmony I was trying to prevent myself from shaking while I was staring at my laptop. I don’t know what to feel about a post on Friendbook related to me. While I was trying to calm down, I continued to stare at a photo posted with a mocking caption. It was me, standing on a stage while in the midst of holding back my tears. The caption says, "Wow, look at your dumb rich girl stuttering through a debate. Is that all you can do? "

Through one of those flickering lights, a dazed old man, he walks like drank fool after a miserable missed up day of bad luck , yellow sands felt under his legs like sharp daggers digging his flesh through his raged shoes that couldn’t hold his feet any longer with the burning sands keeping seeping in it thanks’ to its holes. Suddenly he trips and fell face first with his mouth open swallowing some of this hot sands, while he coahed few times in a raw to clear his throat and spit some saliva that were mixed with dirt, he lay there in the open, being sandwiched between the sun on top and sands bellow, his heavy breath started to give birth to some squeaking of some old rusty iron door bein

The soul is a shadow that longs to roam, Follow the pulse that calls you home. Rise on wings to claim the throne, Or let your spirit cling to bone.’ The monk looked at me, calm and steady. “Your body remembers who you are,” he said. “That memory keeps you tied to the ground.” He tapped the folded poem in his hand. “This chant isn’t just pretty words. It’s a rhythm. When you breathe with it, your heart slows. Your thoughts quiet down.” He stepped back, letting the wind speak for a moment.

⸻ At the Ninth Sanctuary… The old monk slowly walked toward an ancient stone wall. He pressed both palms against its weathered surface. Ancient gears rumbled deep inside the mountain. A hidden chamber slowly opened. Dust drifted into the temple. Inside… Hundreds of crystal tablets rested upon towering shelves. Each carried a single name. The monk searched quietly. Finally… He stopped. His hands began trembling. One crystal tablet had already cracked. Across it… Only one name remained visible. ANAYA ⸻ The woman beside him looked horrified.

Suddenly, he heard a voice chanting, "Amitabha... " Looking back, he discovered a red-robed young monk stepping over in mid-air from the other end of the wood. He landed among the fighters. He had a bronzed complexion and looked muscular and robust. If he hadn't been a Buddhist monk, he might be mistaken for a butcher. A brown rosary was in his hand as he said slowly, "Please stop, almsgivers. Don't lose your sanity because of the Demonic Flower. There are no magic treasures here... "

My God! “Fuck!” I heard someone hissing. My eyes flew open and looked at Luther, who stood in front of me, watching my wet pussy. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and his hand clenched into fists like he was restraining himself not to grab me. I looked down at the huge bulge over his jeans. Embarrassing, I immediately sat back and pushed my skirt down. **********

In other words, Frank's abilities were stronger and more enigmatic! He then turned toward Squint, smirking. "Now, do you understand what your mentor really is? "He deliberately wears rags to resemble a fighting monk, never understanding that those monks were never interested in fame and weren't wearing rags to look cool. "In fact, neither your abilities nor mentality is a match against those monks. You're simply a piece of shit!" His words left the beggar shrieking in agitation, "You're the piece of shit! I am an envoy of the divine! I could rise to the heights of transcendence anytime I want, for I am—"