Short Tempered Novelas e Histórias

I was left standing alone in the darkness of the night like a clown that no one cared about. I made an appointment for an abortion on my phone. Then, I turned to leave. I'd spent the past 15 years trying and failing to win Benjamin's heart. If that was the case, I didn't want it anymore. It was late at night when I returned to the nearest town. I got a room at a hotel and drifted off into a restless sleep. In the wee hours of the morning, I was jolted awake by the ringing of my phone. My superior at the TV station sounded anxious yet excited. "I heard a 5.3-degree earthquake happened at the old settlement near your location. You need to head there immediately to get the latest scoop!"

Summer squeezed her way through, her face discolored, when she saw the records. She shrieked, “This must be a mistake!” Summer snatched the bank statements out of Kendra’s hands and started flipping through them. Though the camera didn’t capture the bills, the viewers in the livestream caught on that there was something more to the numbers. Piqued with curiosity, the viewers asked Kendra to give them a close-up of the evidence. Kendra complied, and the viewers were stunned to silence as the bills came into focus. It took a while before a comment emerged. “Hold up. She wired three hundred bucks for a three-thousand-dollar fridge?”

"What? How? I don't understand" "Shit has been trending since today, it's really crazy babe, you should see it." "Okay, I will," Prisca said and hung up anxiously. She burst into tears as she saw that a thirteen seconds video of her receiving backshots have been trending for the past hour. Clem wasn't visible in the video, just her. She started crying uncontrollably. Clem didn't post this video neither was he tagged or mentioned in the post. So who could have posted this? She asked herself.

“Perfect.” I eyed him, unknowingly taking note of all his features. He was in short black shorts—shorts that were shorter than normal—and a red top with the imprint of a white skull on it. But it was hard to call the short a ‘top’ because it looked like he fought with a tiger, making most of this ‘top’ ripped apart.

A mark of a shattered heart. "Sorry doesn't bring the dead back, Rhea," he breathed icily. "Sorry doesn't heal the scars. Sorry doesn't fix a broken pack.". He pulled her close against him, his tough, uncompromising muscle a barrier that she was pushed up against. His scent, a blend of earthy depth and oak, was intoxicating. It was a scent of risk, of freedom, of a world where rules did not exist. It was a scent of a life she had never known.

“ONE MINUTE TILL FIGHT COMMENCES.” None of us pull away, if anything the kiss turns even more intense. Hungrier. My hand slides on his arms. “Take off my shirt.” he orders, My fingers grip the hem of his shirt, it slides over his head in a fluid movement. He moans into my mouth, and I swallow the sound. Fuck. This feels amazing. Under my finger tips, his arm muscles are tight– “THIRTY SECONDS.” He pulls away from me, my vision is slightly hazy.

In West Yorkshire, England, Elaine Sheridan was preparing to feed her three dogs from a tin of dog food when a live toad jumped out of the tin and across her kitchen floor. According to animal expert Dr Roger Meek, the toad could have survived the three months it had spent canned by shutting down its metabolism. The Sheridans kept the lucky toad as a pet and named it Buddy after the toads from the Budweiser beer commercials. I don't own any of this stories. I found them in some creepy books. I'm thinking of writing my own scary stories, but not anytime soon.

Kristin slid around on her stool, her jaw nearly dropping to the floor as she spotted the man who'd entered the pub. Talk about a hot man on the hoof. She guessed his height at about five ten, with neat, short brown hair, a muscular compact body accentuated by the T-shirt stretched across his shoulders and the jeans that emphasized his strong legs. Even in the low light of the bar, she could see he had about a three-day scruff decorating his jaw line, just enough to be sexy and send out a message to her misbehaving hormones.