Trashy Town Book Novels & Stories

"Mrs. Crenshaw, we have reached your destination." "Oh, we have. This is it? Are you sure?" I said, swallowing deeply, looking at the sight before me. "Yes, ma’am, I'm sure. This used to be a magnificent place many years ago." He said, taking her suitcase out of the trunk and sitting on the uneven sidewalk. "Ma’am, are you going to be okay?" "I guess I have no choice." "Well, Mrs. Crenshaw, hurry and get inside. Boy, this town has become a dump. There's a lot of unsavoryy trashy people in this town."

"Can we please start over?" I looked at his fake, desperate face and felt nothing but disgust. Calmly, I asked, "Hey, Liam. Do you know anything about sorting garbage?" He was caught off guard. "What?" I pointed at him. "You… are the hazardous waste I threw out. I have a bit of an obsession with cleanliness. Once I throw something away, I never pick it up again." His expression shifted from pleading to shame and anger. He wanted to say more, but I turned and walked away, leaving my bodyguards to stop him behind me.

They say if you share the same name as a character in a trashy novel, you're doomed. I used to think that was a joke. It wasn't. One minute, I was sitting in my air-conditioned apartment, holding a pair of chopsticks, eating beef brisket. Blink. The AC vanishes. The smell of beef is replaced by sulfur, rot, and dust. My butt hits jagged concrete. My apartment is gone. I'm sitting in a ruined city under a dead grey sky.

Others laughed at her gloom and she closed her ears unable to hear their sickening noise. Cassy’s gawked at the dirty room—cobwebs sticking out on the tattered walls. The moon peered at the three dusty recliners from the left window. Opposite it, a carpeted staircase led to another floor opening into the world of oblivion. Maybe! A knife went hovering over her into the fire; the steel charred making ruthless love to it and a big book with an image of a woman with inflamed eyes fell near her. Her lips quivered as she read the title—A Trickster; An Evilest and The Sinister!

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x how was the chappy? you are welcome to express your thoughts in the comment section and please add this book to your library, Happy Reading!

“You want to talk while you tear down everything I love? You stand there acting like you care, but we both know this is just another game. You destroy things, Damien. People, businesses. That text was right—you ruin whatever you touch.” His hand shot out, gripping her arm, pulling her closer under the weak awning that did nothing to shield them. “You don’t know shit about what I’ve built or what I’ve lost. You think your little bookstore is the center of the universe? Grow up. The world doesn’t stop for rose bushes and storytime.”

The world after The Burning was quiet. Too quiet. No more cars rumbling down streets, no more planes humming overhead. No more constant hum of humanity. Just ash and silence. I moved through the ruins of a small town, my feet crunching over broken glass and charred debris. The once vibrant town was now just a skeleton, its buildings blackened and hollowed out, like they’d been picked clean by vultures. The air was thick with the smell of burnt wood and decay, and every breath tasted like dust.

by the Aethel-Group was screaming in my ears. *"I was supposed to be a doctor!"* *"I never got to say goodbye to my daughter!"* *"Why did they stop writing me?"* I fell through the creature's throat, which felt like a tunnel made of wet parchment. When I finally hit the ground, it didn't hurt. I landed on a pile of something soft and rustling. I opened my eyes. I wasn't in the black liquid anymore. I was standing in a city made of **trash**. But it wasn't normal trash. It was paper trash. Massive skyscrapers built from crumpled scripts. Streets paved with discarded Polaroids. The sky was a flat, dull grey, like a screen that had been turned off but was still glowing with static.

Mathias warns me to not open it. “Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Tawny flips the simple catch on the box and opens the lid. Inside is a single leather-bound book, about five or six inches thick, with pressed paper. The book was indeed old. I lift the book out, place it next to the box it came in and open the cover. “Well, that sucks,” Clicking her tongue and throwing her hands on her hips, Tawny says, “Are all the pages written in code?”