The Price Of Everything Book Novels & Stories

“What the hell?” I laughed. “You want this thing back, huh? But what do I get to show this generosity?” “Do you not have enough money that now you’re putting a price on your rare act of humanity?” “Well, it’s a wicked world out there. Everything comes at a price. Now, tell me. What’s in it for me?” “What do you even want? You already have everything.”

“The price is the future. Every generation that comes after you belongs to the source.” And right then, as if the room itself were alive, the heavy iron-bound book on the pedestal snapped open by itself with a thunderous crack. The yellowed pages began flipping wildly, the paper hissing like a snake, as if invisible hands were searching for the exact line where our names would be written in blood to seal the debt forever.

"I gave this to Mr. Goldstein! Just name your price! I'll transfer it to you right now!" Callista raised her phone watch, looking like she was about to transfer me the money. I was so shocked that I couldn't even feel the pain. Looking at Callista in front of me, I felt my limbs go numb. "Callista, what did you say?" So she repeated impatiently, "I asked you to name your price! You're willing to sell anything for money, aren't you? So hurry up and name me your price!" I felt as if my heart were being squeezed tight, so tight that I struggled to catch my next breath.

He remembered how, whenever he had even the slightest headache or fever, I had cared for him tenderly and personally cooked for him. He remembered how, when his business failed, I had quietly sent him money and encouraged him, telling him he was the best. He remembered that home I had always kept lit for him—a place warm, clean, and filled with love. Memories could be cruel. When one lost everything, the mind would begin to idealize the person it had once abandoned. “Eva… Eva still loves me,” he murmured, clutching onto that last lifeline, his gaze slipping into something unhinged.

The walls were lined with bookshelves no one ever touched. The windows were illusion-glass: enchanted to shift with the hour. This morning they displayed a stormy skyline, complete with flickers of lightning every few minutes. The thunder wasn’t real, but it felt close enough to count. Professor Limmins entered without looking at them, eyes foggy from years of seeing too much and pretending not to. He didn’t speak. Just dropped six Ethics exams on the table, one in front of each of them, and returned to his desk with a sigh like his soul had clocked out sometime around 1992.

The house made of glass was something that I had asked for. That was the future Jack and I had once pictured for ourselves, yet he gave it to another woman. Something pulled me to the kitchen. I looked at the remaining so-called medication that Sandra had taken. They were in the bin. My placenta was in there, too. The thing that could help my baby survive had been tossed into the bin. Perhaps I was overwhelmed with grief and anger, the bin toppled and fell to the ground. "Jack, something's outside." They held hands and walked to the kitchen to see the trash on the ground.

"New moon...Eclipse...Breaking Dawn...a-ha! Here it is, Midnight Sun!" Maddie pulled it out. Scarlett took the look at the price and her eyes widened. "50 dollars?! But the books back home cost 15!" "Guess it's not what you wanted to see," Maddie wheezed. Scarlett groaned and threw her head back. "I'll get it next time. Do they lay-buy here?" Short after they left the store, "Maddie!" The teens heard a motherly voice call out. "Shoot. I forgot I was supposed to help my mom out with her muffins. Sorry, Scarlett."