The Bookish Bunch discussion

OMG i love these 🙈❤️

these are truly amazing!! wowww!! ppl are sooo talented!!

OMGG!! In love with everyone else's stories!! Great job!!

these are awesome! proud of everyone

so cool!

i’m so proud of you all, thank you for participating <3333333

these were all really interesting to read, hope we can have another look one next month would love to read more!

♡ these were so fun to read!

hi!
heres the results of this month!

-1 - Robin
2 - Tony
3 - Bookhugger

if some of you want to share yours, feel free!

sure and tysm! this is mine:

I jolted awake. Blinding white lights hit my eyes, and I heard a gruff voice. “She’s awake.” I was hauled to my feet and made to sit on a cold, metal chair.
“Sweetie, give me your hand. Let me check your vitals. Do you remember anything? What’s your name? Your age?” said a sickly sweet voice belonging to a very sweet-looking old lady, but if you really saw her face, her eyes pierced right through you, sharp as ice crystals. She pierced a needle into my forearm, taking a sample of my blood.
“Where am I? Who are you?” I rasped, my voice dry from being unconscious. “I’m Dr. Gertrude Bleake, and you, my sweet child, are in a special place for teenagers like you. All will be remembered in time. Just know that you will be here from now on. These are your things, and you can always ask me for anything.” With a creepy smile, she shoved a bag into my hands, and I opened it to find some clothes.

“Er, thank you, I suppose.”
“Of course, dearie. Remember, this is for your own good.” With that, she left the room—never mind, she... disappeared, I suppose? I sat there, puzzled about what was happening.
Looking around, I saw a small bed in the corner of the white wall and a sink close to it. A metal chair next to a small white desk. White. Such a blinding colour. As I thought of where I could be, I realised: What was my name? Who am I? I walked to the sink, splashing my face with water, and looked at myself. Clear, blue eyes stared into my own. Dark brown, messy hair in a ponytail. Dark circles lined my eyes. A tiny scar on my brow. I traced it lightly, wondering how I got it.

Sighing, I sat on the tiny bed and pulled out the clothes. Secretly wrapped inside was a notebook. I opened the first page. It was the diary of a girl named Emelie M. Carter.

1st May, 1000 AAD
Dear Diary,
It's my first day at AAL, the Academy of Advanced Learning. According to Mother, it's for children like me. Powerful children.
I was given my things and escorted to my room. It was sinister.
Training is hard, too. Early mornings until afternoons are for physical training, and afternoons are for lessons. The instructors say that as I train, my powers will grow.
There’s something about this place that I can’t put my finger on. But I will get to know someday
Emmie

So this girl was sent to an academy; she has powers and hates training? It doesn’t sound bad; it's just quite eerie. I continued to read.

25th May, 1000 AAD
Dear Diary,
Children are going missing from my year. Every day, we see a student disappear.
They never show up again. The Academy calls this typical teenage behaviour and mood swings. I call bluff
My friends and the only ones I can trust, Quinn and Aria, are theorising the reasons for this. Maybe the Academy has kidnapped them. Or, well, the academy is right, and the missing students have left on their own.
But there is a connection. All the students who have disappeared have manifested their powers.
Could it possibly mean anything?
Emmie

This is interesting. I wondered—did this girl ever find out?

30th May, 1000 AAD
Dear Diary,
So..we might or might not have found the reason behind this mystery.
The power this generation of students has is not our world’s usual ones. Not elemental, physical, or telepathic. Manipulative.
Yesterday, I manifested. No one knows, except me. My powers are called Mirage. Illusion manipulating.
We explored around the school yesterday and found a locked basement. Outside was a pile of clothes—uniforms.
I think I know what's happening.
Emmie

Flexing my hand, I wondered. Do I have powers too? That sounds fascinating!
“Eat,” said a distant voice, pushing a plate of bread and a dull broth into my room. Looking up, I took the plate, swallowing the barely edible food, and pushed it away, reading the diary again.

3rd July 1000 AAD
Dear Diary,
I’m scribbling this as I’m being forced out of here. They found out about my powers.
Yesterday, we confronted the heads of the Academy. This is the only place that has the full truth. Whoever is reading this, I beg of you. If you are in the Academy, run. If you are here, read this, and save yourself.
This generation of students has a mutation in their powers. They are more powerful. Of course, the government and academy see this as a threat. Every single day, these students are being taken to be tested, to recreate this in DNA, and to form an army.
Manipulative powers—what a risky skill!
By tomorrow, I will be taken to this place as well. I pray that I can find a way out. If you are reading this, remember to use your powers. You are powerful. You can escape from this hell.
I will not be able to remember this.
Goodbye,
Emmie.

I gasp and realise. I remember my past. I know how to escape.
I am Emelie Mae Carter.

wow that's really good bookhugger!

here is my entry:

In the dingy back room of the abandoned building where her group of rebels was hiding, Seven held her breath. Agency guards had chased them through the wastelands for days, and finally managed to corner them. 

Seven had been the first of them to develop a resistance to the transmitter. Nobody really knew how, exactly. All she knew was that, slowly but surely, she had felt her emotions coming back, one by one escaping the steel-hard grip of the small metal contraption implanted at the back of everyone’s neck. The Tick, they called it. 
It was overwhelming.
So much so that, in spite of the danger of being found out, she had confided in Octavian pretty much immediately. He had theories, something about prolonged stimulation of neural connections in the frontal lobe weakening the effects of the transmitter. She had no idea what all that meant, really. But suddenly she felt awake. He did as well, once his Tick too came off.
It was intoxicating. 
There was anger, sure, and hurt, but there was passion, too. She thought she'd loved her husband before, in the quiet companionship they’d shared, but now it was amplified. Loud. Like falling in love with him all over again, or perhaps for the first time: the thrill of attraction, the laughter, the lust– God, the lust…
Soon, they'd found out they were not the only ones. And after long months of gathering information, allies, and supplies, they'd decided to make a break for it.
The lies of the Agency, as they discovered, were too many to recount. By introducing the Tick in the lower levels of the City, they’d kept the population numb and obedient, with barely enough feeling to delude themselves that they had free will. The top floors, on the other hand, were free from the obligation of wearing the transmitter… unless they chose it. But who would ever choose this?
Rumors of a resistance led them to abandon their comfortable, ignorant lives and brave the inhospitable wastes surrounding the City. Tavian’s unbridled rage had been the force propelling them forward.
She'd forgotten how exhausting it was just to feel. And, after the wave of elation and thrill that freedom had brought, other, less pleasant emotions had followed. The dread of being found. The uncertainty of the road ahead. The frustration when Tavian wouldn't hear her out, single-mindedly focused on their escape. The crushing disappointment and despair when, reaching the first supposed rebel outpost, they'd found it raided and abandoned. 
They'd lost Una along the way. Shot down by Agency snipers, she’d begged them not to stop, to move on without her. They were not even sure if she’d survived the injuries, but falling back into their hands, into Tick-induced Sleep, Octavian had insisted, was as good as being dead. He’d refused to stop and let them mourn her. Seven found herself missing the comforting numbness of the Tick, then, the crisp rationality that would not let her be so consumed by sorrow. Instead, she carried all that grief inside her, with nowhere to put it.

Steps outside the door. They were in the building.
She felt the twinge of an emotion she had not felt in a long time, like a cold hand gripping her stomach, choking her lungs.
Anxiety. Anticipation. Terror.
It finally became too much.
She bolted for the door, and, under the horrified eyes of her companions, pushed it wide open.

She had not meant for it to go this way. She had wanted to talk it out with her group, convince them that this escape was pointless, that they had better chances of survival turning themselves in to the Agency.
But Tavian was constantly enraged and rejected any objection, so she never told him how exhausted she was from the journey, the danger, the feelings.
How she missed her quiet, ignorant life.
How that night she'd gone back for Una's body.
How she found her radio, instead.

"We're here! We're here!".
Several heavily armed guards burst into the room, guns trained on her companions.
"I did as you said", she pleaded, "I did everything you said, don't hurt them. Take us back, please just take me back…".
"Seven!", Tavian roared, struggling as two guards restrained him.
"I'm sorry, Tavian, I'm so sorry, but I'm so tired, I just want the Sleep...".
“You–” he choked out, rage distorting his face as he was pushed to the ground. ”How could you–!”.
“We can go back”, she continued, her voice shrill, “They won't hurt us if we go with them, we can go back to how things were, Tavian, please…”.
The disgust on his face was too much to bear. Seven looked away.
Had she ever really loved him? Or was he just the logical choice, the one dictated by the impartial judgment of her rational, Tick-addled brain?
She was not sure she wanted to know.
But maybe, just maybe, once all this was over and they were again safe under the reassuring, unfeeling hands of the Agency, her husband would go back to loving her quietly.

dammnnn robin, that was so good!

robin ✨ wrote: "wow that's really good bookhugger!"

tysm! urs is amazing

all of these are so good!

i find it rlly ironic that it’s a writing competition and you misspelt the word entries 😭💀

tysm!
lol ur right 💀💀

This is mine, hope you enjoy it.

“Graying Morality”

In the remnants of what was once a bustling metropolis, Mark trudged through the debris-strewn streets, his heart pounding with every step. His daughter, Peyton, walked beside him, her small hand clutching Mark's trembling fingers. The world they knew had collapsed under the weight of overpopulation and economic ruin.

The once-thriving city had become a wasteland, a shadow of its former self. Mark, in contrast, held onto his principles, a moral compass in a world gone feral.

Peyton's epilepsy was becoming more dangerous with each passing day. She had not taken any of her medication for weeks. Mark feared for his daughter's life; she might well be on edge for a seizure. The medication that kept the seizures at bay had become increasingly hard to find. She took Tegretol, so one box lasted months, given her age and size. He hid his concern from her, but it was growing into a red-hot ember.

They wandered through the desolate streets, past dilapidated buildings and rusted cars, searching for any sign of hope. Mark's heart sank with each empty pharmacy and abandoned clinic they encountered. He had heard rumors of a stash of medications hidden in the depths of the city, a last resort for those desperate enough to risk it all.

As night fell, they found themselves in the heart of the city's underworld, a lawless territory ruled by violence and fear. Mark clenched his jaw, steeling himself for what he knew he must do. He had always believed in the sanctity of life, but his daughter's desperate need had pushed him to the edge of his morality. He found a place off the trodden path for them to sleep that night.

There would be no fire here, he told his daughter. Being silent and unseen was their only defense. Throughout the night, he slept very little, hearing sounds of movement, perhaps human or animal, all around.

Finally, dawn came with new hope, as light hit Mark's eyes, he was reinvigorated to find what Peyton needed. He woke her up; she had slept soundly as ever, feeling safe with her father. He was glad he had been able to preserve her innocence and his own even in this world. Still, in his gut, he was uneasy as he prepared breakfast for them. After eating, they restarted their search.

Soon they approached a dimly lit alleyway, where a shadowy figure lurked in the darkness like a vulture waiting for their prey. Mark's heart raced as he stepped forward, his hand instinctively reaching for the makeshift weapon tucked into his belt.

The figure emerged from the shadows, his face obscured by a tattered hood. Mark could feel the weight of his gaze, assessing him with a cold, calculating stare.

"I need medication for my daughter," Mark said, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desperation.

"What type of medication does the little girl need?" the figure replied in a sinister tone.

"Tegretol, she is epileptic," Mark responded, trying to speak clearly.

The figure nodded slowly, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "I have that," he replied, his voice dripping with malice. "But I can't part with it. Boss man needs it, and we won’t trade it."

Mark lost his composure, breaking down, he was crying. "Please, she is only seven," he pleaded.

The hooded figure turned from them and headed back into the shadows. "No!" he snapped.

Mark's heart sank as he realized the futility of his efforts. He had nothing left to offer, no bargaining chip to sway the cruel hand of fate. But then, in the depths of his despair, something inside him shifted. A primal instinct, long suppressed by his moral convictions, surged to the surface with a ferocity he had never known.

Without hesitation, Mark lunged forward, his makeshift weapon glinting in the dim light. The figure recoiled in shock as Mark's blade found its target, plunging deep into his chest with a sickening thud. As life drained from the figure's eyes, Mark felt a wave of numbness wash over him. He had crossed a line he could never uncross, a threshold from which there was no return. His daughter had witnessed it all.

But in that moment, as he gathered the precious medication in his trembling hands, he knew that he would do it all again in a heartbeat to save his daughter.

They made their way back through the deserted streets, Peyton's hand clasped tightly in Mark's strong grasp. The weight of his actions hung heavy in his heart; a silent reminder of the sacrifice made to survive in a world consumed by chaos.

Now running, Mark picked up his daughter. They could hear feet running after them. He ducked into this or that building, holding his hand over her mouth, watching in horror as others ran by.

Many hooded figures were now on the street, yelling, "We will find you!"

After a long amount of time sneaking in and out of alleys and buildings, they made it out. But as they reached the safety of their makeshift shelter, Mark felt a flicker of something new stirring within him. It was a primal instinct, born of desperation and fueled by love—a willingness to do whatever it took to protect what mattered most to him in the world.

As he looked into Peyton's eyes, he knew he would carry that burden forever, wondering what kind of father he was becoming and why the medication was so fiercely guarded. In a world devoid of hope.

I love both Robin's, and bookhuger's stories, well done all!

u too omg tony really well written!

oh wow Tony that is outstanding! What a great piece!

robin ✨ wrote: "oh wow Tony that is outstanding! What a great piece!"

bookhugger wrote: "u too omg tony really well written!"


Thanks to you both!

You all did an amazing job!!!!

Can I share mine, even though I didn’t make top three?

Thank you! I would love to read yours Sophie!

omg yes, i would love to read the other entries!

✨sophie✨ wrote: "Can I share mine, even though I didn’t make top three?"

I would love to see them all. So yes!

Ty! Here is mine, it’s the first part of a longer story:


Wednesday, May 13th, 2040, 9:00 am:

I sort through the growing pile of food on the ground of the ruined grocery store. Most of the food has expired or been deemed inedible long ago by previous survivors, but I’m determined to find a few things that can last me until Friday. Leaking rice bags, a slightly open Pringle’s cans, a Coke that expired in 2025, nothing seemed good. And then, in the pile, was a party sized bag of Cool Ranch Doritos that has not a tear in the bag.
“Yessss!” I hiss to myself. That bag would last until Sunday, maybe, if I didn’t eat them fast.
I grab my bounty, and put it in an old shopping cart that sadly read “Whole Foods”. The sign on the cart was peeling off, but it had survived long enough. In the cart, along with the bag of Doritos, were two boxes of mac n’ cheese, a six pack of Sprite, a sleeve of Oreos, some cans of chicken, a few water bottles, and a rare boxed cake mix. I didn’t have any eggs, but I had read in one of my few baking books that you can replace eggs with applesauce. I decided I have enough food with the supplies I already had collected earlier, so I grab my cart and cleverly maneuver my way through the wreckage of fallen shelves and food. I make it out of the grocery store and into the bright morning light. I take my kitchen knife from out of my belt, and start on the way back to my apartment. The city around me is quiet from the morning, and from the lack of people. Several times on the way home, I cut at some vines and plants that block the cart’s way. The squeaky rolling of the cart is echoed in the empty, overgrown buildings around me that were abandoned long ago. The empty shells of the buildings house no life except the plants which devour the space.
After maybe five minutes of cutting and squeaking, I hear a scream up ahead. I ditch the cart, mentally placing a pin on where it is in the maze of plants. I run, and turn a corner around another abandoned building to find an unfortunate scene. There are two people about 300 feet away from me, both of them hugging and crying, their sobs ricocheting off the hollow buildings. Cries of, “No, no! I can’t lose you!” ring through the empty air, as the two people embrace for the last time.
I watch the two for another few minutes until the one on the right collapses, and I can
hear the heavy breathing from here. The cries have quieted down, to only the girl on the left sobbing. I can see the dying person’s breathing slow as they slowly succumb to the disease that has left this city like this. I know the moment they die when the girl wails and breaks down into more anguished crying. I grimace, feeling a pang of empathy for the girl, knowing probably everyone left in this dead city has experienced a moment like this. I return to my cart and continue home, leaving the grieving girl to her misery.

✨sophie✨ wrote: "Ty! Here is mine, it’s the first part of a longer story:


"


Thanks for posting it! Enjoyed the read

Thank you @tony!

@sophie

OMG I LOVED THAT SO MUCH PLEASE TELL ME THERES MORE

@haylie :)
There is more, like 6 pages more… not done with it yet 😅

omg thats great! would love to read the rest, great job <3

here's my entry for the month:

Loving you was fierce. It was a whirlwind of emotions, a rollercoaster kind of rush. I didn’t know what I would’ve done without you. On a gloomy evening, they called, saying you had been in an accident. Hit by a red swift car. Who could be so cruel? Losing you was like getting hit by a truck. It came in three phases:

Phase 1:
Every day was miserable. It started off by me waking up at almost lunch time, and I hardly ate. My sleeping schedule went for a toss. Only till I got a call from your mom, saying that your funeral was going to be the following Saturday,I decided that I should pull myself together for once. To say goodbye to you.

Your funeral came by too quickly. I got ready, wearing a muted black dress and tried to look my best. You would have wanted it. But no amount of makeup could hide my dark eyebags and how pale my face had become.

It was beautiful, really. The delicate flowers adorning the funeral home, the mild weather was calming and it was hard holding myself together.

Then, I saw another woman walk in, greeting your parents. She was beautiful. Silky golden hair held back by a simple claw clip, makeup- but just enough and a simple black dress which showed her amazing figure. She looked like any man’s dream girl. Breathtaking.

I walked towards her, and asked, “Do I know you?” Her delicate features frowned. “No, I don’t think so. I’m Layla, Tristan’s, well..bereaved. I loved him a lot, and I was ” My jaw dropped. Your..bereaved. But I was your bereaved. “Is everything alright?” She asked, in her soft voice. “I- uh yeah, all good. Nice um..meeting you.” I gave an awkward smile and literally ran in the other direction.

You..you cheated on me. You had another girlfriend, all along and I bet you never told her about me. I bet all those work meetings and calls that went on and on, were from her. Love, it really does make you blind.

Then starts phase 2, learning that you cheated on me. Of course, I still loved you, but how could I? Turns out, we were a lie.

Phase 2:
I love you. I loved you. Did I still, though? That..woman. She looked in love and grieving. Like me. A perfect version of me, a more put-together, strong and confident one.

Her. She is the reason my mind is such turmoil. Layla. Angelic name, angelic face, angelic life. Oh, she does not know who she’s messing with.

After the funeral, I followed her home. Call me creepy, but love makes you crazy.
She lived in a simple cottage not too far from my house. Must’ve been easy, hmm? Going from house to house.

That day onwards, I started to note her movements. How she went grocery shopping twice a week, how her friends would come over for dinner often.

I wonder, did you ever go with her? Those work meetings being dinners with her, meeting with your ‘friends’ being dates with her, how much was a lie? Was everything a lie? What was real, and what wasn’t?

I decided to confront her. She wasn’t getting out of this one easily. I needed to know. I needed to know if she knew all along, about the infidelity and the lying. I needed to know if..if she could’ve killed you.

The next day, I walked up to her house, ringing the bell. “Who is- oh. It’s you. From Tristan’s…”.
“Yeah…”
“Can I help you?”
“Uhm, yeah actually..I thought I could get to know you better, cause we are neighbours and knew Tristan, apparently,” I said, awkwardly.
“I guess, I’m free for coffee now? Just, give me a few minutes.”

I took her for coffee, to a place right next to my house. I said, feigning surprise, “Oh! My house is right here, would you like to come in?
“Oh, thats abso- “Nonsense!” I cut in, and ushered her in.

I took her to the basement, telling her it was my ‘chilling’ spot and made her sit comfortable. I locked the door.
“Wh-what’s going on?” she whispered, her face paling.
“Nothing, Layla, nothing!! I just want to talk to you, is all..”
“A-about what?”
“When did you and Tristan start dating?”
“Three years ago, why do you care anyways?”
“Because, sweet Layla, I am Tristan’s girlfriend. Of three years.”
“He cheated on me? That LYING DOUCHE!” she screamed, all the innocence and fear wiped away from her face in an instant.
“Ah, so that WAS an act. Now, tell me. Did you know he cheated?”
“No. And you seem like a totally psycho girlfriend so I’m glad he did.”

Ignoring that, I continued.

“Do you know who killed him?”
“No.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Do you think I’m lying?”
“Of course I am. Now, did you kill him?”
“Of course not, I loved him you maniac!”
“I know you did it, Layla.” A blatant lie, but maybe useful.
“FINE! ITS NOT MY FAULT, he was too in love with you and I was jealous.”
“Oh!” I gasped
“Swear you won’t tell anyone. Otherwise you’re next.”
I kept my hand on my waist, hiding my crossed fingers as I swore, and according to her, completed the deal.

After she left, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and stopped the recording, the evidence in my hand enough to cost her a lifetime in jail.

I couldn’t stay angry at you for long, not after learning that the ‘other woman’ here just KILLED you. Finally, came phase 3. Avenging you, my love.

Phase 3:
The easiest one, I suppose. Going to the police, and getting Layla arrested. Avenging you and knowing that your death was a murder, but I got closure. That you loved me, even though you cheated. I guess, to err is human and I’ll let it slide this once.