This Wheel's On Fire Book Novels & Stories

But when I see the title of the first book on top, I gasp and rush towards it. Absent-mindedly, I sit on the chair and bring it closer to the desk. My hands shake. Why do they shake? I pick the book which makes a bubble of emotions burst in me. "Gone with the wind." by Margaret Mitchell stares right back at me in its red hardcover beauty. My fingers trail each letter of the title as I stare in amazement. I open the book and a note falls from it to the table.

It seemed like they didn't saw us as they were so deeply buried in a conversation shutting the world out. Cherry looked so happy talking to the boy, it was so evident even from the smile on her face. Then I saw the boy inclining slowly towards Cherry and soon they were freaking kissing infront of me. The world stopped rotating for the moment there as I gripped my sterling wheel hard my knuckles turning white. Chloe seemed to have noticed my tensed State and she immediately dropped her hands over mine on the sterling wheel. "Let's go home." She whispered. "No." I growled. "I swear I'm going to kill that boy!"

It spread quickly, fire crawling up the walls, curling the stained wallpaper and charring the ceiling. Pausing a moment, Vergel tapped an earbud, swaying to the beat as he watched the pretty show. When the fire was licking at his boots, he finally returned to the creature and kicked it, hard, in the ribs. At the satisfying crack of bones, Vergel smiled cruelly, then bent and hoisted it over his shoulder. Whistling merrily, he walked out of the blazing house and got back on his bike.

“God, I hope I'm wrong.” * * * “He wasn’t wrong, was he?” Dylan asked. Bonnie shook her head. “It gets worse, though.” * * * She remembered the fire chief saying that the cause of the fire was her stove. He said that she'd placed a book too close to the gas cook-top and it had caught fire. She said that was impossible, but the fire investigator was adamant. She had put the book there. According to his report, she'd set the paperback copy of a book called, “You're Next” on the stove. It was a crime thriller by an author she'd never even heard of. She had told the police it wasn't her book, but there was no way to prove it.

Tears filled her eyes as she whispered against his chest, “Then burn it down. Burn the book. Please.” But when he reached for the pages, the blood hissed back like flames resisting him. The book laughed—a sharp, broken sound akin to paper tearing apart: “You can’t burn her story, fox; you can only read it…and reading means obeying.” Camela’s scream caught in her throat as she muttered, “It spoke…” Vincent bared his teeth in defiance as his fire flared even higher. “Then I’ll silence it,” he said fiercely. He slammed his hand down, his fire blazing but the pages didn’t burn. Instead, they bled harder and thicker, flooding the floor until it reached their ankles.

Sree, Scree, eek, eek, eekeekeek, the wheels sang on the empty sidewalk. Puffing smoke into the air, a piercing sound made the guard become alert. The man looked up as his scream blew the burning gag away. He saw a moving ball.. A moving fire? He watched the moving fireball coming, dodging cracks on the cement like it had a mind of its own, it hit a garbage can in front of the building, the carriage overturned, one wheel spinning and flames through the spokes emanate a squeaking sound. Arms coated with fire fought the flames. The guard stood, staring at the sight before him. He felt a hot wetness in his pants. Regaining his composure, he dashed for the lobby. He wondered if it would explode.

A few minutes later we finally got out and the heat of the sun, sand, and cactuses that are higher than us and I can see their big and sharp thorns meet my eyes. I can breathe a sigh of relief because I can no longer smell the small amount of fuel. If we stay there longer, I won't be surprised if I end up coughing even if I don't have one. But I still thought I would suffocate, and I didn't think it was possible to catch fire because there was a slight smell of gasoline in there. Even if it's just gas and not the back, it's still flammable. "What's that road called?" I can't stop asking. In this world, even a path has a name.

"It's a good thing Jacob is gullible. He believed you were in Manhattan even though you didn't return to your aunt's house. But did you shut up the Langham family's driver? Don't let them get a chance to attack you." "Take it easy, I always know what to do before moving forward." At the other end, Ursula let out a long sigh. "You're always playing with fire, Celine. Aren't you ever afraid of getting burned?" "I was already burnt before I even started this, Sula." Celine leaned back comfortably on the chair she was sitting on. Her eyes gazed at the road that seemed to be deserted. The driver who drove her chose to enter the freeway in order to quickly arrive at the place Celine wanted to go.

“Stay behind me.” “No,” Evelynn said, her voice trembling but fierce. “We do this together.” The fire within her answered, spilling heat across her skin, dancing at her fingertips. The creature tilted its head, as if curious, then snarled, a sound that shook the trees. It lunged. The world blurred. Evelynn thrust her hands forward, fire bursting from her palms in a sudden blaze. The creature shrieked, stumbling back, its body smoking where the flames touched. But it didn’t fall—it regrouped, circling them with unnatural speed.

Amelia looked down at the book and she saw the white fire she had walked into at the temple. “That’s it, that’s the white fire which was at the temple,” she exclaimed. “Just as I thought,” Cara replied. “But there’s nothing written about it,” Amelia said. The page only had the picture of the white fire on it but nothing else that could tell them what it was about. “Don’t be too sure,” Cara said. She reached out for a bottle of black ink that was on the table and poured it all over the page of the book. “What are you…” Amelia stopped talking when she saw words starting to appear out of the ink that was on the page. “Woah!” she said in awe.