Tiny Light Novels & Stories

I thanked him with a smile and headed for the door. That was when my phone buzzed to life. It was a message from Betty. There was Darren, eyes shut, snoozing on her shoulder in the photo with a caption attached. [He treated me so well last night, I left him a hickey as a thank-you. If that bothers you… that’s not really my problem.] Just to make sure I saw it, she had sent it directly to me too. That was not the first time Betty had taunted me like that.

His eyes were tender and focused. He replied, "That's right. She's my star."

she said next. Nearly every hand was raised, making us both look at each other and smile. There was no doubt that this war would be brutal and potentially cost lives, but I prayed that it would be as minimal as possible. I was not foolish enough to believe that our side would be unscathed. Luna Ziyah went on to mention that she would be able to devise something that could act as a strong burst of light. She just needed some time to make it so that it would work properly. That would also be beneficial, especially for those who did not have access to any light or lightning of their own.

They’re each attached by a wire that strings them along the white picket fence that leads up towards my house. I’m eager to follow them, like an entranced moth drawn to the light, I pick up the pace towards home. That’s when I see my house gorgeously decked out in the tiny light bulbs hung on the infrastructure surrounding it. Almost like little fireflies that sparkle calmly against the growing darkness.

With a slightly tired smile on his face, he looked at the arc of light less than two meters long in his hand. Next, Caspian exerted a little force, and the arc light clicked, turning into countless light spots like fireflies, flying away toward the surroundings. In the end, only a small sword light tinier than a palm was left, and it slowly fell from mid-air to Caspian's palm.

In the box is a small metal cylinder with wires and blinking LED digits counting down. 5…4…3…2…1

Not blinking. Something really isc razy. I feel it deep in my bones.

The windows reflect the room back at itself, showing me ghost versions of the kitchen island, the marble counters, my own figure moving through the darkness. I don't turn on the main lights. I find the small lamp above the stove — a deliberate choice, placed there for exactly this purpose, for the small hours when you need light but not too much light. It creates a pool of warm yellow that turns the rest of the room into shadow. The effect is intimate, almost sacred. A circle of light in the darkness, and me standing in it.

The miniature camera on her chest was flashing a faint red light. What a clever girl.