Novel & Cerita The Leftovers Series

At the best age of my life, they drove me to end it in the most devastating way possible. By the time they left the funeral home, the sky was beginning to lighten. The snow was still falling. It had piled thick on the ground, and every step crunched beneath their feet, a sound that matched the fractured rhythm of their breaking hearts. Back at home, the dinner dishes were still on the table, the food long cold. The holiday gift cards still sat on the coffee table, their bright colors now painful to look at. The home that had once felt warm was nothing but cold and silent now.

I couldn't hide my surprise at the amount of food that was served for just me. "What happens to the leftovers after I eat what I can finish?" I asked Martha. "It shall be disposed of, ma'am." My face paled at that appalling thought. I couldn't stop thinking of all the hungry kids on the street. And here we were, trashing perfectly good food. I couldn't let that happen. "Please pack up the leftovers for me once I'm done," I told Martha. She hesitated for a moment, then nodded quietly. "Alright, ma'am."

Clayton stated firmly, his eyes locked with Matt's as he took in his smug expression. Silence prevailed once again before Clayton looked around the kitchen and asked, "Where's the leftover pizza?" "There's only a few slices of Cam's revolting pineapple thing. They're in the fridge," Matt gestured towards the refrigerator. "Didn't we have more leftovers?" Clayton asked, annoyance ringing in his voice. "There were 2 other slices, but I ate them," Matt replied with a shrug, looking unapologetic.

After they had eaten, the three of them lounged around for a while until Lareina stood up and stretched. "Thank you for the meal and for having us over, Yvo," she said warmly. As they prepared to leave, Sean turned to Yvo with the sternness of a strict parent leaving instructions. "I put the leftover food in the fridge. It’s in a white container. You can’t miss it. I threw away the spoiled stuff, so tomorrow, heat it and eat properly. Got it?" Yvo nodded, unsure whether to feel grateful or scolded. He watched them go, the house growing quiet once again.

Always alone. When I finally stumbled home,half-frozen,my phone buzzed. A single message lit the screen: [Don't be stuck on one person. Give yourself a chance.] His words cut deeper than the winter air. At dawn,I carried the box outside. I set it on fire,watching the flames devour my love letters,my memories,my eight wasted years. Ashes scattered into the snow,carried by the wind like ghosts. My wolf let out a low,mournful cry inside me,but I whispered to her,to myself:

I set the phone aside, letting out a bitter, silent laugh. Looking back at the bowl, I noticed something I hadn’t before—a tiny bug floating on the surface of the clear soup. This soup should have been thrown away long ago.

Because again there were about ten different types of chocolate ranging from dark to milk chocolates as well as a wide selection of marshmallow pieces. “Now I understand why breakfast is 2 hours long,” I told her as we sat down. She had also made herself a plate of food and we tucked in ravenously. “Too many options, so what do you do with the leftovers? Recycle them for later service?” She shook her head and reminded me that they were taken to the staff canteen and the rooftop center. “So when are you two going to start dating officially?” Cynthia asked me. “I saw you get all handsy with him in the car last night.”

Rosa said, and went back to her work. They fell into the rhythm of it like it was already a habit — the barrel, the stools, the market moving around them at its Saturday pace. The soccer team from the F train materialized at the far end, small cleated feet and chaos. George sold his last jar of honey to a man in a yellow coat. The cold had sharpened since last week, winter making its intentions clear. "How's Nathan?" Mara asked. "Sent me three voice memos about chapter structure at midnight Thursday." Caleb pulled apart his tamale with the focus of someone who took food seriously. "I don't know enough about novels to help, but I listen."

"I'm her sister, Claire Portman. My sister passed away. Yesterday, I meant to bring you some of her things, but I drank too much. I can't remember anything after that." I cast a glance at the crumpled clothes scattered on the floor and quickly looked away. "Did you mistake me for Mandy yesterday? I'm sorry for drinking. I was just so sad… Now, it's only me left." Tears silently slid down my cheeks. The comments kept flooding in. "Come on, she's making excuses for Xavier. He's not blind—he reacted immediately when she fell into his arms soaking wet." "No man could resist a beautiful woman clinging to him like that. She's definitely plotting something."

He closed his eyes to rest when his friend asked him, “Sit up, I’m bringing some plates, you better finish these snacks and juices.” Ryan sat up straight, taking the remote to play his favorite cartoon channel. Darius brought plates from the kitchen, serving the pastries and cookies on the plate. He put them on the table in front of them. They finished almost all the chips and snacks they bought instead of getting dinner. It filled their stomachs and though the fruit juices were healthy; they drank too much of them. The bags of chips and all the plastic packages filled the floor near their feet and the center table they sat behind. Dozens of cans left on the table.