Tag "Care / Support" - Works and Original stories

It was summer when the flowers in the garden were blooming with bright colors, but in the house number 13 there was a shadow. Where laughter and joy used to sound, now there is only an echo of past happiness.

At the edge of the world, where the sky had become an unreal carpet of evening haze, the beach stretched like a forgotten verse in the book of time. The sand, soft as a memory of the past days, met the wave streaming from the boundless horizon. The sea seemed like a big ocean of longing, in which the sun's rays were drowning, coloring the water surface with shades of unspoken sadness.

In the shadow of a forgotten city, where time wove its nets of old memories, there was a homeless emperor. He was the lord of the forgotten streets, covered with the dust of time, and his palace was a dilapidated house under the arches of heaven. His empire was empty, as if locked in bronze tombs of memory.

In the lost alleys of the city, where the walls of houses are like silent witnesses to forgotten stories, there lived a homeless tramp named Wind. His long hair was intertwined with fate, and his eyes, like the heavens in a gray cloud, despite their bottomless gaze, radiated something inexpressibly dreary.

For a long time, the heavens gave light to the stars, which have now faded away, like the last sighs of ancient constellations. Surrounded by the darkness of the night, a lonely traveler walks along forgotten paths where the stars used to have fun.

Would fourteen-year-old Albus have believed that four years later he would meet again the boy he once cherished the most? That he would be standing on the same balcony in their shared flat with him, watching Scorpius nervously light a new cigarette? No way. But could Al complain when a voice so familiar and gentle touched his hearing again, addressing him. "Just stay with me a little longer."

In a world where the lines of reality and dreams are intertwined, there is a rookery of sadness, monotony and tarnished colors. The story about him resembles clouds floating across the sky in silence.

A special rose bloomed in the depths of the scarlet gardens. Her beautiful petals, like silk handkerchiefs, framed every look with sophistication. But the beauty of this rose hid a tragic story that tells why it's easier to be a bad person.

Plunging into the depths of my soul, I discovered that we, like stars in the sky, are born in different places and times. Despite this, we all strive to be equal – equal pieces of this great puzzle called life.

In the city of piles and faceless facades, where everyone has long sold his soul to the devil under an easily recognizable brand, there lived an unusually handsome guy named Avalanche. He was of divine origin, his hair burned like gold at sunset, and his eyes were transparent, like dew drops on a daisy petal. Avalanche was a bright torch in the gloomy darkness of consumer society.

The whisper of old trees announced the approaching end, and the cold wind inexorably carried away tears from people's eyes. The peaceful radiance of the strong sun was already leaving this scorched earth, leaving it in the arms of desiccated despondency.

Fragments of sadness lay on the shore of the boundless ocean. The grains of sand that had once been part of the whole were now lost in the eternal flight of the surf. The sun has just set below the horizon, shrouding the entire expanse of the sky with dark clouds. Somewhere in the distance, a melancholic melody sounded, emphasizing the serenity and loneliness of this place.

Once, on the shore of a picturesque lake, there was a small house. This house seemed to be a bridge between two worlds – a world of peace and quiet, and a world of incomprehensible sadness.

Autumn weekdays are like a dance of leaves in the wind - every day a new performance of a magnificent ballet, in which penetrating sadness is intertwined with unique beauty.

In a quiet corner of the world, where feelings and emotions are born, a small flower blooms. He, like a newspaper in the morning, continues to open and open, like a bunch of grapes descending from a vine. The flowers are full of bright colors, like a carnival parade, which is carefully decorated with neon lights and a light mist gently wrapping their petals.

Silence closed in deep caves, like a treasure shrouded in darkness and riddles. When I went down into the bowels of the earth, my heart sank from the feeling of the mystery of this place. Facing the damp walls of the cave, it was as if I had entered another world, where the blinding beauty of complete silence had taken refuge.

In a quiet village, far from noisy cities and the passing of time, an old Castle rested. In one of its dark corners lived Death — a mysterious and mysterious entity, the personification of the end of life.

In the sky, a bizarre weather vane, like a grotesque carousel, was spinning, spreading its wings with the wind and shining with the colors of the rainbow. Then golden-yellow, then bright red - they captivated the eye and mysteriously melted, like fleeting emotions on people's faces.

In the fading light of autumn twilight, when the last rays of the sun penetrated through the shimmering foliage, I was crossing a slippery bridge, an unusual landscape appeared before me. The forest seemed to call me into its universe so beautiful, as if magic was in the air.

In the enchanting ballet of life, the strings of harmony of the melody will float along with every breath. In the notes of serene moments, like spring buds, a blooming crown of beautiful little things blooms. Like dew drops on the petals, they shine in the light, filling the hearts with their tenderness and joy.