Uprooted Novels & Stories

"A reminder that good things can grow from the darkest soil." "That's the most important lesson of all." --- The trees continued to grow, their branches intertwining, their roots merging beneath the soil. They had become a single entity, connected and inseparable. "Just like us," Clara said, looking at the intertwined branches. "Connected. Inseparable." "Always." Morwen's voice was soft. "Always." --- The grove was more than just a collection of trees. It was a testament to everything Clara and Morwen had built together—a love that had survived impossible odds, a life that had grown from the ashes of grief.

The crib was empty, and everything was gone. Even our wedding portrait had been taken down. The room held nothing of mine except the faint trace of my scent still lingering on the pillow. Every sign that I had ever existed in this house had been erased. I had been desperate enough to wipe away every last trace, to leave him with nothing to hold onto. Jasper slid down the side of the bed and crumpled onto the floor, clutching the pillow to his chest. His shoulders shook violently, and a single hot tear rolled down his face.

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Even a weakling like her could uproot it with bare hands. I drew in a quick breath, trying to stay calm for my baby carvera. I had to reach it before she uprooted my X23. Baby carveras, once uprooted, had no chances of survival because their roots were the most fragile part of their body. Out of all the plants, why did it have to be X23? Damn it! Panting, she lifted her chest off the ground, turned around and peered at her ankle that had turned blue. Baby carveras had more poison in stock. No wonder it had started showing its effect already.

The night jogger sees in powerless Woodland Vista the visual equivalent of the local idiom “engulfed by heaven and earth” In the 53 days that Nathaniel “Nate” Policarpio has stayed (against his will) in Camp Unplugged, which is based in Woodland Vista, he experienced over ten power outages; a clear insight into the frequency of such interruptions in that backwater. Nate knows too well because he scritched a tally mark on the wall of his room for every single outage. Camp Unplugged is certainly living up to its name, over and beyond its mission of being an Internet addiction rehabilitation center.

“Rooted. Strong. Whole.” And for the first time, I believed it.

Luke comforts Josie as she reacts to the news, something I should be doing, but I’m too worked up, I’d only make her feel worse. Robert finishes emptying the trunk, finding nothing that he seems interested in, before pushing it out of the way. Then he gets on his knees and begins digging in the dirt with his hands. “What are you doing?” Axe asks. “He would keep his most precious items hidden, they will likely be close, but out of sight,” Robert says as he digs with determination. “Move back,” I sigh. I can move the dirt much faster than him. “Oh, that’s right, you have a molecular manipulation gift,” Robert says, and I shoot a worried glance at Deacon. How could he have forgotten that so qui

It resonated through their bodies. "That's it," Serakha whispered, her words audible. "The Root." They discovered it within a crumbling hall buried in rubble. Broken pillars littered the ground. The ceiling had vanished. ragged edges remained framing the sky above. At the center, amid the debris, stood the tree. It appeared lifeless. Leafless. Lightless. Its bark showed cracks and blackening. Heavy chains corroded and ancient coiled around its trunk. As if someone, in the distant past, had attempted to restrain it.

Dionysus, for his part, will return to his origins when the titans tear him apart and return him to the earthly world from which he came. Orpheus performs his most transcendent music after his failed attempt to save his lover from the Underworld. The mission then was not a rescue but a tutoring in songs that outlive the individual singer. After his own dismemberment, his head is said to have continued to sing as it floated down the river towards Lesbos. inaugurating a tradition of Orphic hymns where anyone could assume the role of poet-hero. Anyone could pick up “the head”. The underworld taught Orpheus that true creation requires us to give up ownership. But I want to go back to an even ol

He always defended himself, saying we were only friends. Aunt Margaret had chased me out of the house the same day Mrs. Forrest told her about my pregnancy. She said I was useless and that nothing good could ever come from me. “Is this how you want to make your parents proud in their graves?” she asked. Her words hurt, but they were the truth.