All Quiet On The Western Front Book の小説・ストーリー

But the truth was that noise was the best companion when the war was over and my parents were unheard at home. "Silence was what I heard before the bloodbath took place in the war," I admitted, and I watched her pause in surprise. "It's hard to explain because a war itself is noisy, but there is a moment when everything goes quiet; not even the animals make noise, and the wind itself decides to make silence to give tension to a moment as raw as a battle is. The energy expended is so much that then everything explodes, and a part of my mind chose to quiet the background noise to understand what was going on around me."

Zach The quiet before retaliation always felt worse than the fight itself. Men think war starts with the sound of gunfire, but it really begins in the silence before it — in the waiting, the stillness, the thousand decisions that have to be made before the first bullet leaves a chamber. By dawn, the house was a pulse of movement beneath the hush. Trucks fueled, phones burned, maps redrawn. The air reeked of gun oil and tension. Everyone moved with a kind of reverence, the way you walk into church before you sin.

Picking the book from the couch I mumbled, “great! a novel.” I pray this book be exhilarating. I ambled back to my bed and planted my ass on the rough blue Chelsea FC bedsheet. I casted my eyes on the front cover, and read: “The Wolf Boy” “Damien Ace” nodding my head. I attempted to open the front cover, but a knock on the door interrupted me. I ignored the knock and went ahead, opening the front cover... I tried to read, but it was impossible. The knock on the door became persistent. It was like my head was being invaded by a Titanic migraine which would stop at nothing unless my head had been blown to smithereens. It was unbearably loud in my ears that it was hard to concentrate on what I

I spent almost the entire trip reading through one of the books Peter gave me about the first war. I wasn't a history buff but I knew enough about human history to know that war was one of the worst things a country could face, only I had never really stopped to consider the details. Sitting in the comfort and safety of Cole's car and reading about death and destruction had my body shivering with fear. The book spared no details. Whole chapters were devoted to recounting particular battles listing the deaths and the destruction that occurred and I swallowed hard as I considered that soon we would be going through all of that again. I had closed the book and let my eyes shut for the last twen

As he opened the book, the fragrance of aged parchment wafted through the air, creating an olfactory tapestry that intertwined with the silent narratives within. Joseph closed the book, its pages whispering as they settled back into a state of repose. The room, once filled with the enchanting tales of werewolves and mystical histories, now echoed with the sigh of a man burdened by the weight of knowledge. He ran his fingers over the worn cover, feeling the texture beneath his touch.

It was clear the damage was caused by an attack and not decay of age. My chest sank deeper recalling the witch I met at the outskirts saying if my mother chose to stay alive they might have won the war. I pressed forward anyway, weaving through collapsed beams and scattered stones until something caught my eye, a small book half-buried in dirt, its leather cover cracked, pages swollen. I flipped it open and the first words nearly stopped my breath. “I couldn't go through with the abortion,” the rest of the words faded and I flipped trying to make sense of the first words I read.

I stayed where I was, staring out at the fog-draped hills, my breath ghosting in the cold air. It was strange — how war had become routine. You’d think it would feel monstrous every time. That the weight of leading men to die would get heavier. But it doesn’t. It just gets quieter. And that silence — it’s worse. I crouched, pressing a hand to the ground. The earth was damp, trembling faintly beneath my palm. Wolves in the distance howled in sync, a low rumble that rippled through the camp like a heartbeat. They were ready.

* Zeina * The Western Front. Moments Before the Storm. The world was fire and fang. I stood on the blood-soaked earth of the battleground, wind slicing through my fur like knives. My wolf form towered above the fallen, silver fur matted with blood, some of it theirs, more of it mine. The moon, high and indifferent, watched from behind black clouds as if even it feared what was to come. Across from me, Celine.

With his head held high, Alfred retorted, "I know exactly what I'm doing. Let's get one thing straight. I've been fed up with you for ages. For three years, I've been asking for some legitimacy, but you've stubbornly refused, leaving me to be mocked as the gigolo. Who are you trying to fool with your so-called deep love? "You're fond of Nelson, right? Well, today, you're going to watch him get degraded." Alfred seized Jennifer by the hair, his smirk directed at me like a challenge. "Let's get this show on the road." I watched the men charge at me with a cool detachment. Then, suddenly, the sound of gunfire erupted from outside, and one by one, the attackers crumpled to the ground. Alfred's e

I'll be back. I know. You better be. I will. She set the phone down. The room was quiet. The street below was quiet. She picked up the book. Clara's book. The one she didn't understand. Opened it. Read the first page. The words still blurred. She kept reading.