Novel & Cerita The Big One Booktok Journal

Thursday, 13 February 2014 11:00pm Dear Jennifer, I have decided to write a personal journal to help me cool off my head over the tough times I face with my family. Should anything weird happen to me one day, I hope this book will find its way to you and help solve the riddles around my situation. I am not predicting something bad to happen to me or my family any soon; however, the future, and all its occurrences, is inevitable.

I wanted to sleep and wake up on Thursday morning again, and Tyler Sinclair had no intention of breaking someone’s nose. I stayed by the door for a moment, listening to Brooklyn talk about it to Tracy on the phone, her tone softened in a way that sounded like she wanted to cry. “Just a misunderstanding during practice, Sydney.” I repeated, walking slowly to my messy bed. My legs gave out the moment I reached it and I sank onto the bed, feeling something hard press beneath me. I frowned and pushed my duvet aside. My journal—the first birthday gift Dad ever gave me. A smile tugged at my lips as I took it up, flipping it open as I lay on my stomach.

“What’s Ben got this time?” “2067 G wagon.” he replied between chewing, crumpling the burrito wrapper. “That was delicious, thank you. I’m gonna change then we’ll head out.” He kissed Emma and went back to his bedroom. Lucas kept a meticulously clean apartment. It was well decorated with beautiful pieces of furniture, that complimented each other well, and abstract yet gorgeous paintings and sculptures. The sun, still on a steady rise, only made the apartment feel more beautiful and alive. Lucas admired this beauty on many mornings, sometimes with Emma and sometimes without, but that beauty left his mind this morning when the holo-screen buzzed.

“They found out I have the code. I don’t know how, but… I’ve seen them watching me. I’ve been followed. Two nights ago, someone tried to break into my place. I have to disappear, Lexi.” My voice trembled. “So what do you want me to do?” He handed her a single page—a torn scrap filled with symbols, numbers, and scribbled lines. It looked like chaos. “I need you to write this down. Copy it—exactly. Keep it somewhere safe. Somewhere no one would look. I’m burning this journal tonight. You’ll be the only person left with this.” I stared at the paper. My hands shook as I took it. “Pastor Dav…”

And remember, beneath the fiery heat of desire, there beats a heart that craves love, understanding, and connection. Thank you for joining me on this journey. I can't wait for you to experience the magic of the Spicy One-Shot Collection. With love and passion, Unusualdee Passion Pages “Passion Pages isn't just any reflection journal; it’s a powerful tool for those who wish to accept their sensuality.” — Unusualdee. After diving into this collection of short erotic stories, you absolutely need to grab the reflection journal designed to process all those swirling emotions and tantalizing thoughts that spring up while reading!

If my handjob sucked, then I had to make it better, learn the best way to treat a cock, and whip him up with something he’ll never forget. “Noah”—his moans played in my head as I searched the shelf for something helpful. [The Faith of the Dragon Lair] [How to kill a dragon] [The Art of Fireflies] [An Omega’s Journal] My finger paused at the last book, “An Omega’s Journal.” It sounded intriguing and also felt like it was written from experience. I pulled the book out of the shelf, dusting it off and removing the particles in search of the author’s name. No name, no copyright claims… Who would leave something this private in a library?

A shiver ran down my spine. Retracing my steps, I padded over to the table, which had the item lying on it. It was a book, a really, really old book. Flipping through the pages, I discovered it was a journal, its pages detailing the fall of a great alpha king. My brows scrunched. What the hell is an alpha? However, before I could read further, an unseen force hit me, nearly sweeping me off my feet.

Vincent nodded his head as his fire hissed low, struggling to stay lit. “Yes. It's a writing sound,” he replied. In front of them appeared—a tall oak desk that seemed as grand as a throne. Upon it, a massive leather journal opened by itself, its pages flipping rapidly. Each page had fresh words in black ink, still wet, dripping like veins down the page. Camela’s stomach churned. “It’s…writing on its own,” she said. The journal stopped on a page that lay wide open. At the top of the page was a neatly written date: “Entry One.”

We built bridges of stories. We planted trees of love. We sang into storms. And the fire answered: I am not done yet. She closed the journal. Then she closed her eyes. And let the fire write the next pages on its own.

A blast of cold air rushed up from below, smelling like wet stone, old blood, and something rotten beneath snow. The journal slid across the floor toward the opening. “No!” I lunged for it. Damien caught me tighter. “Leave it.” “No.” “That thing wants you closer.” “The book has been more honest than half the people in this town.” “It is not a person.” “Neither are half the people in this town.” The journal teetered on the edge. Pages fluttering. Glowing. Waiting. Then one page ripped free and flew upward on a burst of silver wind.