Wide-open Spaces Book Novels & Stories

Every moment is this. Without moment. This. The light that is. The love that is. The being that is. The this that is. Only this. The book never opened. Because there was no cover. The book never closed. Because there was no ending. The book was the opening. The book was the reading. The book was the read. All one. Without one. This. The final chapter is not final. There was no first. There was no sequence. Only this. Appearing as sequence.

Plus, it was the perfect excuse to catch Hannah's wedding and finally get that divorce paper signed, a clean break for both of us. That night, when I got the green light from my leader to take some time off, he even suggested Sunny tag along. Once Grandpa was settled and I had left some cash for Uncle, I could finally relax. The wedding invite said the ceremony was in the afternoon, and as I was about to book a ride, Sunny piped up, "We're not seriously going like this, are we? Let's hit the mall and find something snazzy to wear."

A/N: Sorry for being so late guys but i swear, am definitely gonna try my best in meeting up with the three chapter a week quota! So don't be discouraged. After this arc. (no. unknown) we'll move on to W2!! Giddy up fellas~! *** In the blinding orange space which, although almost unnoticeable its color had turned into a darker shed, Dina stood with a book in her hands while shivering with unknown emotions. As soon as she turned to the last page, she shut the book with a slam and flung it through the space without a glance back as it flew through the hollow.

It was still a little moist. She didn't know what to make of that; he was a hard man to read. In her experience, there were three kinds of people, some were an open book, eager to share. stephan was an open book. Living around him was to live with the constant threat of blunt force emotional trauma. Ryan, on the other hand, was a closed book. He gave nothing and shutdown conversations that might peek at what was between his covers. Like a steel bear trap clamping down on the conversation, eviscerating an arm of a leg in the process.

What should I make with my ‘creation’ skill then? *stares at the outside He saw the sea and the boats and the yachts. “!!!!” That’s right, I’ve been saying it since earlier but it hasn’t gone to me! The transportation that is mainly used in the western and northern continent, the air ships! I should make a our very own sky ship. The protagonist of the story in my novel actually has a sky ship as well. I wonder what point in the story are we currently? Wait, is the story currently happening now or Bathala just made the world in my novel and didn’t follow the plot of the story? If that were what is happening then I can do whatever I want.

“Dax said sometimes it opens in some pretty dangerous positions, like into outer space.” “Brandon said the same thing. But they’re working to figure out how to tell where it’s going to open next. I think, now that Ward has the book and can start to read it, maybe we’ll be able to figure out when it’s going to open somewhere safely, and then they can get out.” I suddenly remembered what Brandon said about the one left behind rule. “Only....” “Only what?” Ashley asked me, the smile fading away.

Later that afternoon Rhys is at his desk working on the building's spring calendar and I am on the couch with Arlo and a book and the London Sunday is doing its unhurried thing and I think about Felix upstairs and Saoirse's things outside his door and the new piece getting closer. Some things take exactly as long as they take. Some things cannot be hurried. Some things just need the right room. I put the book down and look at the ceiling and listen to the cello. It is warm and searching and asking the question differently the second time. Getting closer. Almost there.

I pulled out the latest BookTok darling from my backpack—the one with the cover everyone was blushing over—and flipped to where I’d left off. The girl in the book was officially snowed in at a remote cabin with her hot, brooding not-uncle and his even hotter sons. It was chaotic, messy, probably deeply inappropriate—and I was all in. I’d just hit the chapter with the spicy scene. You know the one. A fireplace. A blizzard. Tension so thick it needed a crowbar. I took a long sip of my lavender drink and sank deeper into the fantasy. This? This was exactly what I needed.

The pages inside were thick and blank smelling faintly of woodsmoke and leather. "A gift " Julian said softly. "For the thoughts, descriptions and fragments of dialogue that you don't want to keep on a drive. For the stories that belong to you without an audience demanding a twist or a platforms algorithm dictating the pace." Elena opened the book running her fingers over the paper. It was empty. For a writer who had spent over a decade filling spaces the emptiness didn't terrify her anymore. It felt like an expansion, a open landscape stretching out toward an unwritten horizon.

Into lives allowed to remain incomplete without being discarded. Arthur and Tyla do not stand at the end of this dispersal. They are not its proof. They are its absence. A space where certainty once demanded form. A clearing that remains because no one claimed it. The world continues—not cleanly, not justly, not safely—but open. And open, against all odds, is what remains.