Trashy Town Book Novels & Stories

Maybe being the son of a town hall leader puts your name a little above a pedestal. I suddenly remember the letters I’m taking with me. Its papers seem to have colored yellowish, signifying how much time has passed since it was first written. If people already knew of the location of the Kurim, then how did the waiting for its return turn into years? Do the people living here have settled enough for the life they have in this small town? If they have settled for the small life they have here, then what keeps my mother feeling caught up in the middle between herself and her own mind?

"I'm being a bitch. Sorry, I'm just not in the happiest of moods." "It's fine," Alice shrugged and suddenly glared at the packet of cheese in her hand. "Why won't you scan, you annoying lump of dairy!" Tai raised her eyebrows. "You're scanning the wrong side." "Oh... Right," Alice coughed and threw the cheese aside. "Well, I'm sure I'll see you around on Monday. I'm Alice." "I can't wait," Tai said sarcastically. "This town has a lot of drama," Alice said. "It may be small, but that doesn't mean it won't feel like you've just walked into a young adult fiction book.

Sleepy Ridge" town. That place is full of deadbeats." "I think we will find some fun there." Zia said. Her eyes shining in mischief. The others agreed. Ren's "magnetize" for stirring up trouble was starting to affect the others more and more. "We will be fine if we stick togethor. We also need to hone our skills more. Hmm, need to get a few others involved as well."

“Great. Just great. Meg loves shopping for odds and ends there, and maybe it’s evil. WONDERFUL.” “Well, perhaps not evil, just . . . ” I wave him off, massaging my aching temples with my other hand. “Yeah, yeah. I got it. Holy God, Gavin. Demons, evil houses and doctors, ghosts, redneck voodoo zombie witch doctors and monsters . . . what the hell else have we got in this town?” He tips his head at the book. “How about gods . . . ”

Cathy rolled her eyes, "if she would just woman up and fuck him." "Don't say such crude words, Cat." I watched in amusement as Cathy glared at Spencer. She hated being called Cat. "My poor virgin ears might bleed." Despite how outgoing I was, the three of them were the only friends I had. I and Spencer met in our senior year of high school. He was a transfer student and I was a nice girl who wouldn't let a person like that be friendless. Transitioning was always hard. When the time came for college, both of us applied for the same ones, the rest of our friends scattering across the globe. Spencer was half Korean and had the softest hair to ever exist. Even if his mother wasn't in the picture

Her nice body immediately became the center of attention when she went to the lobby to tell the receptionist that she would go out and do some shopping. Of course, the receptionist was happy. It was because she gave her a tip. As Sherly stepped out of the taxi onto the bustling streets of Country S, she couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement mixed with apprehension. She put on her mask, which made the person driving the taxi shiver. Of course, he knows that this place is a place for those people involved in the black market and underworld. Thus, he kept his mouth shut, and Sherly gave him a very generous reward. Of course, it is for him to keep his mouth quiet as well. The air was thic

Hey, Muse Squad, That much is clear in Dusty Creek, a town that once thrived before a crooked sheriff decided to turn it into his personal playground. I’ve spent the last week digging into this town’s past—by that, I mean listening to the locals, the ones willing to talk. The ones who haven’t been silenced by fear, or worse, indifference. What I’ve found is a slow, creeping decay, the kind that doesn’t happen overnight. Dusty Creek was once a place people were proud to call home. A tight-knit town, strong, steady. Then came corruption—quiet at first, almost invisible, until it spread like a disease.

Wesley followed close behind, cracking jokes to keep spirits up, his energy lighter but his eyes serious. After the last of them had been wheeled out, I stood in the middle of the car, surrounded by silence. The cabin looked like a war zone. Open water bottles rolled across the floor. Used barf bags sat bloated in the corner. Blankets and jackets were strewn across the seats. The air still hung heavy with the sour stench of vomit and disinfectant. I grabbed a clean towel and began wiping down a row of seats. I wasn’t on staff. It wasn’t my job. But I needed to do something.

Tasting the filth, the fire, the fever he wrote into every page of my skin. The next morning, a box sat on the kitchen counter. Hardcover, freshly printed. My was name on the cover—and his. ‘Yours, Uncensored.’ “Is this—?” I asked, fingers trembling over the title. “Our story,” he said behind me, pulling my robe down to bare my shoulder. “Every filthy, furious, unforgettable chapter.” “You’re insane,” I breathed. “And you love it.” He kissed the top of my spine. The back cover quote? I read it aloud.