Book Chrysanthemum Novels & Stories

Placing the book back on the shelf, I walked down the shelves skimming through the titles of the famous books as I finally reached a dead end. Hey, Mr. Wall! How long have you been here? Can you tell me a few things about the First Vampire too? Things I want to know except the tragic love story? I chuckled at my self which was totally not sane after such a long walk as my tired eyes landed on a blue covered thin book in the far end of the last shelf. It had no title either. Curiosity got the best of me as I pulled out the book and to my surprise, a strange light flew in the direction of the wall as it vanished.

In Venturian culture, white chrysanthemums were symbolic of death and mourning, rather than life. Madelyn stepped back, just dodging some glass that almost hit her. But she wasn't mad. She kept explaining and saying sorry, sounding real sincere, "Forrest, I came to visit you for real. I got these flowers from a shop, and I got them just for you. They only had these left, and they cost me fifty bucks, which is a lot." "Get lost, Madelyn Jent! If you dare show up in front of me, I'll fucking kill you."

, Ruth replied with a big smile. “Oh! I brought some flowers for you”, Eunice said as she looked back to collect the flowers from Christian. “I bought some daffodils. Olivia said they are your favourite after chrysanthemums”. “Awww. Thank you Eunice”, Ruth said as she received the flowers. “But why didn’t you buy the chrysanthemums?” “Our teacher told us that in East Asia, chrysanthemums are given for the portrait of the dead”, Eunice said dryly.

When she doesn’t move, I have my answer. “It’s easier if I show you.” I lead her toward an antique armoire in the corner near a long, empty wooden table. The doors open and reveal several thin drawers. I pull open one of them to show her a collection of carefully arranged wooden boxes. I lift out a box and open the lid. Pressed between two plates of glass is a chrysanthemum, each petal carefully preserved in perpetuity. I hand it to Maria, and she holds it in her hands. She stares at the flower while I gaze at her.

Yam sliced it open slowly, hands trembling. Inside was their book. “The Art of Staying.” Cover: a sunflower. A crooked shelf. Two mugs—one chipped. And behind it all, the suggestion of a fan, mid-spin. Franc stared at it like it might whisper back. “Feels unreal,” Yam said. Franc flipped through pages. Some with artwork. Others with Yam’s poetry. Their story—wired beginnings and all—now bound in matte finish. “I think this book breathes,” Franc said.

He instructed the class. How many times has someone mentioned the word 'different' since I got here? At the fundraising event, I heard that word about ten times from the people my aunt introduced me to. How am I different? I wanted to tell out. He walked over to the table in front of the class and passed me a book. I realized it was a novel; Purple hibiscus by Chimamanda Adichie. "That's the book we're currently studying, you can take it with you to your seat. Also, you can take the seat beside Webster" He dismissed me and I was bothered about how I'm supposed to know who Webster was.

"Oh, you noticed. But it isn't something you should worry about, you know. Your dad just needs some time. He'll come around." It was something she was telling herself too. Something she wished would happen soon. "Okay, mommy." Maryam picked up her book. "What are you reading?" asked May, trying to start up a new conversation. She didn't see the book's title because half of the purple cover was peeled off. "Purple Hibiscus," Maryam replied excitedly. "Written by Chimamanda Adichie, my favorite author," she added. "Isn't that too much for you? Do you even understand a word?" May thoughtfully asked.

"Before I came, I went to the flower shop to buy you flowers. I wanted to buy a bunch of chrysanthemums, but I suddenly remembered that you like this kind of flower!" Forcing a smile, Chloe said, "It's rare to see this flower in that shop! I heard that such flowers are blooming everywhere in your country. They are very fragrant..." She could not help but gently play with the lovely flower that alternated between yellow and white. She muttered, seemingly to herself, yet also appeared to be asking her, "Sometimes, I also wonder if it is good to bury you here? After all, a fallen leaf returns to its roots. If you rest in the place that you like, you should be happier! And here, you don't like i

It was such an interesting story! I stood up and search for more and found a book in another aisle. I started reading it until I got pulled in. It was wonderful! "Unknown was the name it called it really became untold. A White Chrysanthemum was torn, that lies the truth inside." "A Savory flower they grow, that interests grow to the hidden. A bud of Tarragon grew, lasting their feelings." "They gave a Daisy to the eccentric saying, I will never tell you.

My eyes caught the purple chrysanthemums and I felt drawn to it “I’ll keep these ones.” She raised a brow, “Odd choice but okay.” She picked up some roses and stepped out of the apartment. I dropped the chrysanthemums on the table and put them in a vase. “I’ll never forget a woman like you.” His words echoed in my mind. He called me unforgettable. I scoffed. Of course he’d say that. They all did. He was a man after all. I knew this game all too well. They’d love bomb you, leave you hooked and then rip out your heart and disappear.