Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Dangerous Intuition by Tasha Kessler (best novel books to read TXT) 📖
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suddenly smiling, the huge sexy grin reaching up to his eyes making them dance with the hidden humor he found. Shit. This was Dr. Argyros’ nephew. I felt my face blush, heating from the embarrassment, as the realization hit that there was a strong probability that he too could read minds, and had just heard what I was thinking. He let out a big loud laugh this time confirming my thought pattern.
“Are you cursed too?” I asked erasing all humor from his face in an instant. “Yes.” Was his only reply. He looked pained and I could tell he didn’t want to continue with this conversation. “I’m a little hungry. And I could use a blanket or two and a pillow, if that’s ok.” I said changing the subject.
An hour later he returned with a plate of food, some blankets and a box. “I brought you a sandwich. I hope you like turkey…. And there’s some chips too, and a Pepsi.” He handed me the plate and set the box and Pepsi on the floor next to me placing the folded up blankets next to it. He left the room and returned with another plate. He leaned against the wall holding his plate with one hand and his sandwich in the other and I put my plate on the box. We ate in silence, and when we were finished he took my plate and returned with a pillow and a small cot.
“I suspected this would be a bit more comfortable that the cold hard floor.” He took the cot and the pillow and set them up walking back to grab the blankets. I stood handing him the blankets just as he started to reach down for them. “Thank you.” I said. As much I wanted to hate this man, as much as I wanted to loathe him, I just couldn’t. He was helping a mad man keep me locked in the prison like cell, chained to the floor like an animal, but I could not make myself hate him. There was a connection there that I couldn’t place. Undeniable and unlike anything I had ever known. I didn’t know what it was or why it was there but hard as I tried I couldn’t ignore it. He made my bed and turned to go leaving the box in the middle of the floor as he left. He stopped with his back turned to me, doorknob in hand. “I don’t want you to hate me either” he whispered, without looking back. He closed the door gently and quietly. In that moment I realized that, despite what he was here for, I didn’t want him to leave.
Cursed
“Are you cursed too?” I asked erasing all humor from his face in an instant. “Yes.” Was his only reply. He looked pained and I could tell he didn’t want to continue with this conversation. “I’m a little hungry. And I could use a blanket or two and a pillow, if that’s ok.” I said changing the subject.
An hour later he returned with a plate of food, some blankets and a box. “I brought you a sandwich. I hope you like turkey…. And there’s some chips too, and a Pepsi.” He handed me the plate and set the box and Pepsi on the floor next to me placing the folded up blankets next to it. He left the room and returned with another plate. He leaned against the wall holding his plate with one hand and his sandwich in the other and I put my plate on the box. We ate in silence, and when we were finished he took my plate and returned with a pillow and a small cot.
“I suspected this would be a bit more comfortable that the cold hard floor.” He took the cot and the pillow and set them up walking back to grab the blankets. I stood handing him the blankets just as he started to reach down for them. “Thank you.” I said. As much I wanted to hate this man, as much as I wanted to loathe him, I just couldn’t. He was helping a mad man keep me locked in the prison like cell, chained to the floor like an animal, but I could not make myself hate him. There was a connection there that I couldn’t place. Undeniable and unlike anything I had ever known. I didn’t know what it was or why it was there but hard as I tried I couldn’t ignore it. He made my bed and turned to go leaving the box in the middle of the floor as he left. He stopped with his back turned to me, doorknob in hand. “I don’t want you to hate me either” he whispered, without looking back. He closed the door gently and quietly. In that moment I realized that, despite what he was here for, I didn’t want him to leave.
Cursed
Publication Date: 10-27-2011
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