Trample Novels & Stories

"So I can lean on you guys and depend on you guys, give you my trust and respect just for it to be crushed and broken like it always does?" She abruptly stood up. "You know what, I have none of that in me anymore," She chuckled bitterly. "I simply have no respect for anyone, no trust, no sympathy, no nothing because it's already gone! It's been crushed and broken to bits so much that it's all just shattered and vanished away at this point!" Tear started to fall down her cheeks as other people around the cafeteria started to watch and listen. "I'm sorry, sorry that I can't give you what you want. I can't give you all that trust and respect you want in any friendship because mine has all been

"I'm a goody two shoes and I'm a prude and I like to do my homework and I absolutely definitely don't know how to be friends with all around bad boys and ..." "Well, if you don't know how to be friends with a wanton because you're a good girl—" He lays emphasis on wanton, a word I'd used randomly many days ago in his room and I visibly swallow "—then there's only one solution. Welcome to the wanton train, good girl. Hope you enjoy the ride." This is what I get for not keeping my mouth shut.

And another. “I’m a rebel.” I whirl around and march forward, but this time I really do walk right into a spider web. I bring my hands up, frantically trying to get the web off me and spin around. I didn’t see Logan rush over to help me, and I end up whacking him hard in the face. “Shit, I’m so sorry!” I jerk back, slip on wet leaves, and my feet go right out from under me. I land in thick mud, and Logan can’t stop laughing. “Jerk!”

The person reads the name indicated on the card. “Sorry, the card is mine."Alan asked for the card that was still in the person's hand. “Oh! it's your, Alan Pham." Anthony spoke cheerfully with a bright face. The boy is trying to show a friendly impression that could be for the interlocutor to be captured as a familiar attitude, pretentious and then the bad impact makes the interlocutor feel uncomfortable. "Nice timing. I'm Anthony, do you want to play at my house?” "Sorry.” Alan forcibly took his card from Anthony's hand. He had been waiting but there was no sign that his cards would be returned. “I can't.”

The clean hallway outside our home had turned into a disgusting garbage dump covered in buzzing flies. There was a designated trash area in the neighborhood, and everyone here had lived together for over a decade. There was no way people didn’t know where garbage was supposed to go. Anthony immediately exploded in anger. “Who did this? Throwing trash in front of someone else’s door like this, do you people have no shame?” Someone nearby muttered under their breath, “It’s still nothing compared to being the other man.” Anthony immediately lost it, grabbing the speaker by the collar. “What did you just say? I’m telling you right now, Anthony is not an adulterer! The real adulterer is that fake

I gave you a chance, but you didn't take it and ruined everything yourself. Vincent trembled all over, completely shattered.

"You're a cripple now, so let's see how you're going to fight me now." Suddenly, his hand tilted, and the entire glass of scalding hot milk poured over my arm. A sharp, burning pain exploded through my nerves as I grunted in pain, and my crutch slipped from my grip. I lost balance and crashed heavily to the floor. A searing agony ripped through my leg, and cold sweat from pain soaked my back. But what broke me more was the music box that tumbled from my arms and clattered onto the floor with a crisp crack.

Faye chimes in. Everyone else watches like unattached spectators. Celeste suggested we play tag. We all hesitated at first. Heirs don’t play tag. Heirs don’t frolic. Heirs don’t laugh unguardedly. But Celeste persisted pulling me to my feet. We ran around trying to catch each other. With our competitive natures the game surprisingly turned intense as every loser was fined five thousand dollars. Isolde won. Alaric didn’t participate in anything.