Book About Grass Novels & Stories

"Oh, yeah! I just remembered. Now I have lots of friends. Their leader is the strongest!" She ran to bed and hugged the teddy bear that Edmund had given her. Chuckling, her parents followed. "He's the strongest?" Alice stroked the bear's head. "Yes!" Sky lifted the stuffed animal high. "This is Grassy. He likes to eat grass. That's why he's green. I think he's a vegetarian bear." Edmund almost burst out laughing. However, out of respect for his daughter's imagination, he nodded in agreement. "Because he is so strong, you don't need to be afraid of having nightmares. Grassy will always protect you."

It shimmers in the sunlight, as if it's made of plastic. "It's almost like a park," Alec says. "It is a park." I step forward and run my hands over the grass, which feels like a soft carpet under my skin. It's a beautiful place. We walk, and walk, and it's seeming like we'll never reach the edge of this grassland. But as we keep going, it changes. The grass gets shorter and shorter until it's just a little bit taller than my ankle. All kinds of flowers are on it, but they're small and wither quickly. I bend over to pick one up, and the stem snaps off in my hand.

The few blades of grass embedded in it were brown and stringy. “In that?” she asked. “Why not? There’s plenty of soil there for some new grass.” Dominic smiled. “Plenty of moisture, too.” Leesa stared down at the patch of earth, focusing her thoughts. She didn’t need any kind of actual visual to help her—she’d seen enough grass in her life to easily picture what it should look like. “Blitha egras sumuss,” she said.

The hope from the valley stayed with them for a day, a warm ember in Liora’s chest but with every step closer to the Black Crags, the ember cooled. The land here wasn't just sick or sad; it was also beautiful. It was wrong. The grass wasn't brown or grey, it was a vibrant, unreal green, like a painting. The trees were perfectly shaped, their leaves a uniform, waxy green. There were no weeds, no fallen branches, and no animal tracks; it was too perfect, making the skin on the back of Liora’s neck prickle.

she curiously asked. “Uhm... That was a journal, baby. Your personal diary... I mean, if you grow old someday, you will realize things... Things that you couldn’t ask to another person because you will be afraid or scared to make them think that you are weird or something... So if ever that you have some questions about yourself and you don’t know whom to ask it, you can write it down in here...” “Really? Will I be able to find the answer then?” “Maybe... As time passes by, if you read the first pages of this diary, you will finally be able to answer that question all by yourself. It’s because you already experienced it... That’s when you realize that you finally grow a lot over the long per

Thirteen hunches beside me, clenching her ribs as she sniffles. "Hey," I whisper to her. "Look at the grass." She shakes her head. "I don't care for grass." "You haven't seen grass like this." At the Unfortunate camp, the grass is a pale green and only exists in random patches of spiky blades. Out here, it's a vast wonderland of beautiful, soft greenery. "If you just look up a little, you'll see—"

The doctor went outside after making sure Regina was comfortable. Without waiting long, the doctor brought a cup of tea that she had made for Regina. Then she placed it on the table near the beautiful woman so that Regina could drink it. "Thank you." Regina brewed the tea, which was still smoking. "Well, it looks like your father has been given red grass." The doctor sat down on the sofa directly opposite Regina. "Red grass?" asked Regina confused, she really didn't know that. "Red grass is a poisonous plant, but it's not as noticeable as other poisons when it's only a small amount. That's why it's much more dangerous than other poisons," the doctor said, looking at Regina's pity.

"It's ordinary." "That's the same thing." --- The seventh book was different. Not a memoir — a children's book. About a garden, about a fig tree, about the dogs buried under its branches and the women who loved them. Beatriz's successor, Eva, was hesitant at first. "A children's book?" she said. "A book for everyone." --- I wrote about Orwell, the scruffy survivor. Pippin, the disaster with mismatched ears. Fig, the puppy who arrived in a crate. Oak, the quiet one, the watcher. And the women who buried them, who marked the stones, who never forgot.