Tag "Realism" - Works and Original stories

In the shadow of the old garden, where time dragged slowly, a single raspberry bush grew. Its branches, like lost threads of time, stretched towards the sky, losing themselves in the boundless blue. It seemed that in every leaf there was an echo of the past, like unspoken words frozen in eternity.

Beneath the moon's cold, watchful gaze, A captive soul in iron stays. Through bars of regret, shadows loom, A tale unfolds, a prison's gloom.

In shadows deep, where whispers weave, A jester's just, a plot to grieve. In cloak of night, with vengeful art, He played his role, a twisted heart.

In shadows deep, where sorrow weaves its song, A garden of despair, where hopes are gone. Beneath a moon of tears, the night unfolds, A tapestry of loneliness, in darkness holds.

In the shade of ancient trees, on the shore of an endless lake, stood an ancient castle, bathed in the light of the moon. Its white towers stretched to the sky, like mute witnesses of countless stories hidden in the depths of the walls. In this royal refuge, where hundreds of years have passed, the vital smell of antiquity and wisdom was melting away.

In the garden where whispers carry secrets untold, Flowers, withered, in sorrow's grasp they hold. A shadow of days gone by, draped in dusk's cloak, The agony of time, a powerless sorrow spoke.

In a corner of the dark alley, where the raindrops were crying with despair, there was a shadow. He was like a mosaic of the night, fused of dark shades and starry twinkles. His eyes, like two sparkling stars in a bottomless night, glided through the streets, absorbing every moment, like a passionate artist enjoying his work.

In the darkness of the forest, the stars twinkled like tears on the black fabric of the night. The hunter, like a wanderer in this world of shadows, wandered among the trees, his heart beating rhythmically, as if calling him to dance with the ghosts of the past. His gun was his companion, but not his friend. It adorned his shoulder, but it did not warm his soul.

(Pain of Salvation – Pulvius Aestivus)ㅤㅤ Nothing happened. Just the rain.

There was a man in the big wide world who never new affection.

Jungkook goes home after a daylong at his boring and exhausting work and meets an unpleasant technical obstacle on the way. More to that, a man from his past suddenly shows up — an old friend, whose presence nearby is the latest thing Jungkook wants. There's no chances to escape or to avoid any interaction. Word by word they start talking, and against his will Jungkook turns back to some vexing events he considered as forgotten long time ago.

In the eyes of night, stars stand still, Melancholy, a shadow, in my soul does chill. Gray clouds drift, slow and low, Like echoes of a time, long ago.

In the deep silence of the twilight city, where the rain fell heavily on the cold asphalt, there was a lone human robot. His metal body glistened from the reflection of the street lamps, like a mirror reflecting the sad images of the past. He was created to serve, to perform tasks, but there was a secret hidden in his artificial heart, so deep that its light was reflected in his metal eyes.

On the outskirts of a quiet village stood an ancient wooden bridge, like a strange passage between two worlds. Its blackened boards seemed like old pages of a forgotten book, in which many stories are recorded, lost in time.

In November, when autumn had already lost its bright colors, and nature became gray and gloomy, that rainy day began. The sky was cloudy, as if covered with a heavy veil, and raindrops fell to the ground like tears from heaven.

In the shadow of the evening twilight, notes bloomed like flowers in a forgotten garden. In this garden lived a musician whose soul became a bridge between heaven and earth. Once his mouth was full of words, like a spring stream, but the magic of time has done its job. Now silence was his language, and music was his last look at the world.

In the shadow of the leaning city towers, where the light of lanterns flickers like distant stars in the night sky, there lived a man whose heart sounded like a slow melody in the fast dance of vanity. His soul is like a forgotten letter lying in the corner of time, despite all the attempts of the world to overtake him.

On that spring day, when the snow, like a gentle veil, began to fall on the budding buds, I felt that there was something incredibly sad in the air. Spring, promising new life and awakening, brought something unusual – snowfall, as a metaphor for frozen hopes and dreams.

In the gray embrace of autumn silence, when the last leaves bloom in the fire of the passing season, I decided to visit the forgotten cemetery corner. Far away from the noise of the city, where time slows down and the wind gently whispers the stories of bygone days, I found a small piece of spring that refused to give way to the shadows of the past.

Gray clouds were gathering in the sky, like heavy clouds of memories ready to rain down hidden emotions. In a hospital room filled with the smell of sterility and medicines, there was a lone chair by the window. On it, like the last thread of light in a dark maze, lay the pale hand of a man whose eyes were already a yielding reflection of anxiety.