Novels by King Write

The holographic message vanished and the busy marketplace in John's thoughts became a faint thrumming. He blinked, taking in his apartment's well-known chaos. His encounter with death was poignantly symbolised by the broken fan that was lying shattered on the ground. Was everything that happened a dream? A bereavement-fueled delusion?He grabbed for his phone, hoping to get an alert about the app download or maybe a description of the strange message. But there was nothing strange on his phone. There were no new applications, no missed calls, and no remnants of the strange event. John had a rush of perplexity. Had he really overcome whatever it was? Or was it only waiting for a moment? He looked around the room warily, almost expecting to see another hologram appear in front of him. His empty stomach's persistent tweeting was the only sound to break the prolonged quiet. He made the decision to stop thinking about it and to approach the situation as if it were a bizarre dream that h

The memories of his near-death encounter were still with John when he woke up, pounding in his mind like a rancid scent. His neck ached, a gentle protest against what had happened that evening. He blinked, and as his eyesight adjusted, the room became fuzzy. A pulsing blue light hovering inches from his face was the first thing that caught his attention. The message was a hologram that was projected straight into his line of sight.A panic sprang throughout his chest. Had there been any brain damage to him? Did the fall cause these hallucinations? Lifting a hand, he swatted at the message as if it were an annoying fly. It shimmered, then vanished. With the room shifting slightly under his feet, he clambered out of bed. With a great craving for fresh air, he staggered towards the window.He followed the message, which lingered obstinately in his vision. The two harsh lines that were presented were "Popularity: 0" and "$0.00." John gazed at it, feeling a chill of fear creep into his g

John was standing in the middle of the room on a wobbly stool, his bare feet feeling the cold metal. Above him, the ceiling fan buzzed, its steady whir that belied his urgency. The unravelling rope felt scratchy on his flesh as he gripped it. It was a dreadful necklace, fitting for the last scene of his own personal tragedy.The treachery, the overwhelming debt, and the sensation of total worthlessness all weighed heavily on him and dulled his senses. This was the only way out, he reasoned in a dejected and empty way.A hideous invitation, the noose dangled limp from the ceiling. John closed his eyes and imagined the looks on Sarah and Mark's faces as their treachery played back to him like a merciless movie reel. He saw them enjoying a happy life indefinitely, unaware of the destruction they had brought about. His motions were driven by a sudden and intense wrath, a last glimmer of defiance.With a sense of finality that sent chills down his spine, he tightened the rope around the pr

John was having trouble breathing. The smell of cheap beer and treachery permeated the dilapidated flat, casting a dark shadow. Sarah's comments replayed themselves in his head, a never-ending litany of charges and defences. He gazed at them, like a shattered marionette with its strings cut. "This is why you've been so cold to me all month?" With a rasp, he asked, the question falling out like a parched leaf in a windstorm. Sarah said nothing, her eyes darting from him like a housefly gone awry. Her lack of response revealed much and validated his darkest suspicions.Encouraged by Sarah's contemptuous demeanour, Mark advanced, adding an additional layer of brutality to the already exposed injury. "Cold?" he mocked, a sardonic chuckle from his chest. "John, you looked like a solid block! You couldn't even find the energy to have a great evening with your partner, work or no job. My friend, you're as thrilling as a wet sock."John's hands became tight, with his claws penetrating the de

As John walked aimlessly across the city, the streets became a painting of blinking traffic lights and neon signs. Every stride was weighed down with treachery, his thoughts a war zone of opposing feelings. With a sour flavour of disappointment, anger simmered like a kettle on the verge of boiling over. It seemed unbelievable to him that Mark, the person he had looked up to like a brother, had taken his presentation and his opportunity for forgiveness. What had seemed like a desperate effort at emotional support, Sarah's previous communication had become a nasty joke. He cried out for comfort, for a familiar voice to calm the storm building within of him. Driven by a fervent hope, his feet guided him to Sarah's apartment complex. A discordant song floated down the corridor as he climbed the creaking steps. It was not music, he realised, but a jumble of discordant noises, like a muffled groan, a stifled chuckle, or the creak of overworked furniture. A feeling of icy fear descended ov

John was startled out of sleep when he heard his alarm clock's incessant buzzing around his flat. It was the day. The day of the potentially career-defining presentation. Feeling an exhalation of tense energy, he tossed off the blankets. His body buzzed with a powerful mix of fear and adrenaline in every muscle. He shaved and washed like a man getting ready for a battle. Choosing a tie had significant symbolic meaning — a striped design represented self-assurance, a subdued blue hue represented professionalism. John, looking dapper in his finest suit, had a glimpse of the John he knew back then, the John who would confidently go into meetings. It was now more important to him to prove his value and win back his lost confidence than it was to simply get a promotion.A glimmer of optimism sprang in his chest as he checked his phone. Sarah's message. "Have a great day, sweetie! Make me proud and knock them dead!" It thrilled him with a false hope, the first really encouraging note she'd