The Still Point Book Novels & Stories

Then the poetry. Handwritten. Sometimes sonnets. Sometimes messy, jagged pieces that felt like they’d been ripped straight from his chest. One read: If I could be the rain that slips down your shoulder, If I could be the sky you look up at in rage I’d let you strike me down, again and again, If only to stay close to your fire. I threw that one in the trash. Three hours later, it was tucked inside the cash register. And then came the books. First editions. Stories I’d loved. Stories I’d once read aloud to Damien in the Blackwood library when we were young and tangled in something that felt like forever.

People just started calling it The Still. They arrived barefoot. Left their names at the entrance. Stepped into a soundproof field of soft sand, matte flooring, and low warm light. There were no chairs. No schedule. Only circles drawn in the dust, already half-faded, from the people before them. Some people sat. Some lay down. Some curled around memory stones. Others simply stood still for hours eyes closed, not in meditation, but in return. Aeris never gave speeches. She walked the outer edges like a tide.

"Penny, you know people in the media. Call them. If the Mercer family tries anything, I want their reputation destroyed by tomorrow." I gave him a docile little nod. The whole convoy roared up to the front of the Royale, and we marched up to room 7032. From inside came unmistakable, explicit sounds. Vivian clutched at her chest. "She's heartbroken in there. I will not let him get away with this." On her order, security kicked the door in. I lunged in first and slapped the lights on. The whole room went still. Vivian sank to the floor.

I kept my foot falls light, scanning shelves, walk ways and alcoves as I passed, pointing the beam of my flash light into every space as I passed. I was nearing the end of the room when I started to relax slightly, still on edge but at least my heart wasn't beating in my throat now. I took a deep breath as I scanned the bare wall at the end of the room. All clear. My shoulders relaxed and I clenched my shaking fists once to steady them, shaking my head at my own silliness. There was nothing here. A shuffling sound behind me had me whirling around in a panic and I almost swore out loud. Dead.

The second piece was just the same as the first, but adding more detail and background after they viewed their mistakes in the first. "Taking both of these." Ren rolled them up. "I take it as an illustration of your old home?" Two gave him a sad nod. "Hmm, ok. Come along now." Ren pulled the book to him and started to read as they walked. They made it out of the courtyard when Zero and Three ran up. "Can we come as well, Master?" Zero asked. Three just looked on excitied.

This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any kind of resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely simultaneous. I love and appreciate your comments. I gladly like to hear what any of you might say. With that all out of the way, I hope you enjoy this book. ♥WELCOME TO THE BOOK♥ ♥TAMING THE DRAGON♥ ❤ELYSIAN POINT OF VIEW❤

III The night was dark, darker than any other night before. Iltiras walked down the lonely path, the darkness didn’t bother him. He was more than curious what will happen on this path in the middle of the night. Stories were told about power-eating demons and faeries that attack travelers around midnight. He wanted to see them for himself, or as he liked to say with eyes unclouded. No one really dared to walk the path alone; no one wanted to because of the trees and their long, dreadful shadows, which fell on them, that looked like men with bony fingers that ended with talons. The leaves in their bases were bloody red in color. His leg stepped on one of the piles that were in his way, he exp

Actually calm, the specific quality of someone who is standing in the center of something very large and has found the still point within it. I watched my own face on the screen say: I want you to look at it and tell me whether you believe them. I turned it off. I put the tablet on the nightstand. I lay back on the bed and looked at the ceiling and thought about the eight minutes and forty seconds and how they had come from the same place the collection came from, the place that was not strategy or planning but the thing underneath those, the actual thing, the part that refused to disappear regardless of what was done to it.

Which, for a mouth, is a kind of acquiescence. The Old Foundry wore noise like a well-cut coat. The doors—all four—stood open, not for air but for recruitment. The cranes had been lit with lamps that turned their iron into cathedral ribs. Men spread through the space in clusters that mimicked debate and perfected applause. The Oath of Keeps sat on a table at the center like a cake. Beside it, a tray of pens—new, cruelly sharp, elegant enough to be weapons. Silas stood near the book. He did not touch it. He allowed himself to be seen not touching it.

How ridiculous! They had ruined me altogether, leaving me with only a battered life that was slowly slipping away. I curled into myself, trying to keep warm. Tears fell silently onto my body. I didn't know where I was. And even if I did, I had no means of moving. All I could do was wait for death to claim me. As the end neared, images from my past flashed through my mind. But I wasn't ready to die yet. Not like this, at least!