Fallen Dreams by Elaine Brown (best english books to read TXT) 📕

book it was?”
His forehead wrinkled in thought, and he tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm… I believe what you’re looking for is "Leggende e Miti: Mai come noi Vediamo"... Don’t give me that look! It was brought back just this morning, that’s how I knew…” He slid away and returned with a thick, leather bound book with the Italian title written elegantly across its spine.
“Why is the title Italian but the inside is English?”
The librarian shrugged. “It was originally written in Italian, I suppose; the scholars who translated it must have thought that the title sounded better in its Italian form.”
“Any chance you know the title in English?”
As he passed the book over the counter to me he explained; “It’s one of the harder titles to translate: ‘mai’ can mean either ‘never’ or ‘ever’, but its most commonly translated as ‘ever’. ‘Leggende e Miti’ is fairly easy: ‘Legends and Myths’. ‘Mai come noi Vediamo’ is a bit more challenging: ‘Never as we See’.”
“"Legends and Myths: Never as we See"… That’s rather strange… What do you suppose it means?”
He smiled again. “Find out.”
I turned and rolled my eyes when he was no longer able to see my face. Whatever. Glancing around the corner, I strolled back to my window seat: outside it was pouring rain, making it impossible to sit out on the terrace. I did not particularly feel like reading every single myth about our small little town, especially when they made up such a large book, so I ran my finger down the list of contents; a few of the passages had small marks beside them, indicating that they were missing. I turned to where a few would have been, and sure enough I could easily tell that they had fallen out; the glue in the spine where they had been, skimming roughly against my fingertips, had faded to a pale yellow-brown.
I crossed my fingers and hoped that the missing passages did not include the one that I needed. Turning back to the table of contents, I began searching once more. My finger stopped upon a, somehow, familiar title that caught my eye: “Seen but Untouched”.

Why does it seem familiar?

I asked myself countless times. My eyes scrolled across to the page number; pg. 176. No mark telling that it was missing. My pulse started to race, and I rushed to flip the pages; I was inching closer, I could feel it.

163, 170, 171, 172, 173, 174…

I held my breath and prepared myself to turn the next page. The paper flipped easily, worn from years of reading:

17…9?!?

Where pages 175 and 176 should have been, there was a skip from page 175 to 179. Ragged edges of paper stuck out from between both pages, the broken remnants of a well loved spine being ruined; these pages had been torn, they had not just fallen out over time as the rest had. Someone had deliberately taken the passage, so no one could read it… and if each page had yet to be marked missing, someone must have stolen the legend fairly recently. Had someone known I was researching? Had they stopped me from getting my hands on that passage?

You don’t know that!

I screamed at myself, inside my head. At least, I hope it was inside my head. I was not completely in control of myself.
But I did know. Somehow I just knew, let’s just say it was intuition… intuition told me that it was missing because of me.

IV

You would think that since this day had such a huge impact on my life I would remember the exact date, but I only remember that it happened in late autumn. My favorite season…
I was back in the hills, in the field where I had started my last day with Shawn, playing our stubborn games. Our favorite tree rested at the top of this hill, its leaves not quite yet fallen, glowed with beautiful reds and gold’s in the suns dying rays. I had grown taller since that day, developed more both mentally and physically. Now being five eight, I could reach the lowest branch by jumping instead of shimmying up the trunk the way I had done as a child. I had cut my hair shorter; it hung in layers around my shoulders, the shortest lengths of it coming up around my chin and blending with the longer sections. My wardrobe had been improved, as many of my shirts had ceased to fit, becoming too short and too tight at the bust line. I had even pierced the cartilage at the top of my right ear, on my “sweet sixteen”, with a hot needle, ice, and my mothers help. A small obsidian stud had, since, always rested there, matching the necklace that I wore under my shirt. The cold silver of the chain and half-twelve-pointed-star caused goose bumps to rise on my pale skin; the obsidian in the center reminded me of half of a yin-yang sign. It had been over a year now since I had seen the owner of the partner necklace.
It was an oddly warm day, and it was also unusually gorgeous. I felt nary a chill on my bare legs and arms, even though I was wearing soft plaid shorts and a dark brown tank top. Light on my feet, I jumped to catch the lowest branch and swung myself up to sit and watch the clouds. Ever since that day, I had avoided lying on the grass facing the town for too long. Now, sitting in the tall oak, I strained to make out the soft outline of a mountain range far out in the distance. The forest just after the lake was a blend of rich color. Almost none of the leaves had fallen anywhere around the village. Farmers could be seen as small specks in their fields, harvesting pumpkins for the children and other crops that were grown at this time of year. Mothers could be seen walking their children towards the field houses to choose from this year’s choice crops.
A familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach, a feeling that I had not felt in over a year, brought tears to my eyes. The same feeling I had had while he and I had been playing our stubborn game; but that was impossible. I shook it off and closed my eyes to absorb the suns warmth.
“You shouldn’t fall asleep in trees, you know. You could easily fall out and hurt yourself.”
The voice, coming from directly above me, startles me so badly that I jump and nearly lose my balance. As I wobble, the owner of the voice drops onto the branch beside me from the branch above me. My eyes widen as they take in the familiar face, the dark eyes and lashes, the slightly longer dark hair blending with each. Pain rushes to flush out all of my other emotions before it is replaced with a joy I had not even known I could feel.
“Shawn!” My voice cracks and tears stream down my cheeks, but I throw myself at him and wrap my arms around him fiercely. In my haste, my body seems to have forgotten that we are sitting in a tree, and so we lose balance. I brace myself for impact with the ground; but when I open my eyes, Shawn has one arm around my waist and has caught the branch with his other hand. When had he become so strong and agile?
As I uncurl from my ball and set my feet down beside his, I look into his face a little less hysterically. Yes, it is definitely Shawn standing before me, but he is different. He has matured as well; dark circles are under his eyes, his features are more distinguished, his most prominent features now have sharper angles. And… he looks altogether more resigned. Now that he is slightly older than seventeen, he is probably done growing, but his build is a little bit wider. He still isn’t bulky—he had always tended toward leaner muscle—but there is a new strength in him that I have never seen before. I realize now that this person may well be entirely different from the person I had known, and that thought pains me. Almost as much as the carefully guarded expression he is setting on me now.
“Orin, you have to get out of here.”
It feels oddly good to hear him say my name again. And then I process the comment, or rather command, and I am stunned. What in the world is going on? Suddenly my best friend reappears after a year, so different and who knows what has changed, and he is telling me to

leave?!?

This is definitely not the same person I once knew; the old Shawn would never have asked me to do something so strange without an explanation. I give him a look as I question his sanity, and he sighs, grabbing my shoulders. “I’m serious, Rin. I can’t tell you why, but you

have

to get the hell out of here. Not just out of the field, out of the village; you have to run.”
Who in the world is this? Never once has Shawn called me “Rin”. Once, when we were little, he had forgotten the “n” in my name, and he would still call me “Ori” on occasion, but never “Rin”. And to run from my home? What was he thinking? And Shawn

never

used to curse. He thought that the people who used profanities to act cool were overrated and retarded.
I jerk out of his grasp and narrow my eyes on him. “Oh, so sorry Mr. High-and-Mighty, I didn’t know you were in charge. Where do you get off telling

me

what to do?”
He seems a bit surprised at my harsh tone and takes a step toward me; I take two backwards. “Rin—“
“Don’t call me Rin!”
His eyes widen again. “Orin.” I lift my chin defiantly. “Please, just trust me—“
“And why should I? I don’t even

know

you anymore! You were never the boss of me, and you’re far from it now! Where do you get off telling me to leave the only home I’ve ever known, huh?!?”
He steps toward me again and I skirt around him, but he grabs my arm so firmly it nearly hurts. I yank it back out of his grasp and take of running down the hill. I hear his running footsteps behind me and put on a burst of speed, wishing my legs were longer. Why did this have to be such a big hill?
Suddenly his arm is catching me around the waist and I am toppling forward into the tall grass. We roll down the hill in a cascade of flailing limbs and grass. Somehow, instead of rolling straight down the hillside, we start to turn and the roll ends with our feet to the village, three quarters down the hill. My head aches as it presses into the ground and I shake it to clear it. Shawn is crouched on top of me, breathing hard; his knees are to either side of me, his forearms pressing into the ground on either side of my head, boxing me in.
“Well,” he mutters, “This is familiar.”
And I burst into tears, burying my face in his chest.
He stiffens, holding his breath, as my tears drench his shirt. I hate crying in front of this almost-stranger, but at the sight of him I just cannot hold myself back any longer. For over 365 days I had held back my tears, cut myself off from pain. Now, with him right in front of me, all the pain and memory is back. The feel of the wall, slick with my blood; the perfect day before the storm; the sight of the guest room