The Waste Land Book Novels & Stories

But inside his mind, he was far from the safety of the tent. --- The nightmare was relentless. Luke again found himself standing in the middle of a barren wasteland, this time the ground cracked and steaming as if the earth itself had been scorched. The sky above was a swirling vortex of black and red, casting an ominous glow over the desolation. The air was thick with the stench of decay, and the distant sound of wailing echoed like a chorus of the damned. Across the wasteland, his evil self appeared, a twisted mirror of his own image. The figure was identical to him in every way, but this time its eyes burned with a sickly green glow, and its smile was cruel, almost predatory.

It turned into a real grim reaper; it was not a costume but a real deal. “You warned and watched me, I bet you knew that I had the book of Soleira. Explain it in a manner that we can understand. Are we a character from a book and this world is actually a fantasy the writer created?” He thought if his assumption is correct, then it proves that the weird whirlwind story of their hatred-romance are all the author's cruel fantasy.

Thousands of abandoned books rested upon the silent sand. Some were half-buried. Others lay open, their pages completely blank. The woman whispered, "These are all unfinished stories..." The First Reader nodded. "Every story abandoned by its Author eventually arrives here." Adrian stepped onto the cold sand. The moment his foot touched the shore... every abandoned book trembled. One by one... their pages began turning. Not by wind. By recognition. A faint whisper rose from every direction. "Author..." "Please..." "Finish us..." Thousands of voices.

But when we finally broke through the crust and stood upon the surface of the East, the pain was forgotten in the face of the absolute desolation before us. ​The Whispering Wastes were not a desert of sand, but a sea of jagged purple glass. Great dunes of violet shards stretched out to a horizon that was perpetually bruised, a sky of deep indigo and sickly magenta. There was no wind, yet the dunes shifted and hissed, moving in patterns that felt deliberate. And above it all, the Black Star hung like a hole in the universe, drinking the light and the air and the hope from the world.

It came from the sand beneath me. Task Forty-One: The Scavenger’s Hunt. You are in the ‘Wasteland of Forgotten Things’ the graveyard for every debt that went unpaid and every soul that was too broken to be filed. To reach the sky kingdom, you must find the ‘Weight of the World.’ It is the only anchor heavy enough to pull a mountain back to earth. I stood up, the grey sand falling from my body. I wasn't a Queen here. There were no subjects, no throne, no laws. I was just a woman standing in a graveyard of discarded reality.

I wonder if I should feel panic and despair in this situation, but it's like those feelings have been sucked out of me along with the hope of living. I get out of bed and look out the tiny window in the room. Then I remember that for me there is a difference between this room and the room I lived in in my uncle Aldo's mansion. Outside this small room, there is something beautiful that makes me want to go out. The vineyard that stretches before my eyes is impressive. For the first time in a long time, I feel the desire to explore and enjoy the beauty that surrounds me.

Wasteland Nathan's eyes fluttered open, blinking against the soft dawn light. He glanced around, as he'd done many times before, but it was pointless, as it had been each time before. He was alone up here. There was no one around. Not a soul, human or animal. Nothing at all, as far as the eye could see but the pungent stink of the air was making him dizzy, his stomach churning, unbelievable, repellent and, gut-wrenching, numbing foul stink.

“But as long as she’s not being delusional then of course I’m treating her right.” The chairman just nodded, waving him away. **** Something was strange, Caden thought to himself. Everything was so quiet. The world suddenly stilled as if somebody hit the pause button to let the chaos and noise melt down for a little while. Everything felt dream-like. He was barefoot yet couldn’t feel anything, no tick and no echo of his footsteps. There was nothing but void and Caden was in the middle of it.

Turning the music off, I grab the lavender and put it in a tiny glass vase, and set it in the center of the long ebony black dining table. Walking out of the conjoined dining room and kitchen I grab my book, my water bottle, and a blanket. I set the water and blanket by the back door that leads to the porch, and the beach a little off, and head back to the kitchen with my book. Of human bondage, by W. Somerset Maugham. The book itself isn't bad, but from my point of view, it's terribly bland. I like more poetic works. But also a hint of darkness. The best example is the poem, In the Desert, by Stephen Crane, from his book The Black Riders and Other Lines. It has a sense of dystopia that I ca