Grass Graphic Mga Nobela at Kwento

Sorry for the long author's note haha. Nity out 🍄

“Sure, Ms. Frias.” I packed up my stuffs as my assistant call our driver. I put my colored pens and some of my newly made designs in my drawer, before locking it up. I saw our family picture inside and I sighed, missing my Mom and Dad badly even though they visited me only last month. I smiled to myself while thinking that Mom and Dad are going to visit me again this week. After a few moment, Fiona came back to me with a smile plastered upon her face. She’s holding a bouquet of red roses, her cheeks blushing.

Whatever that thing was, but how were they connected? My visions of Grisha were painful, they were draining, and they were chilling. But my vision of the burning bird was calm, peaceful, and utterly soul-fetching. But why did it scream Grisha? Because I heard it, I heard it loud and clear and I knew it screamed Grisha! What in the hell was Grisha and what did it have to do with the burning bird? For an umpteenth time ever since I set my foot in Varagrafena, I laid awake at night, filled with nothing but questions, and more confusion!

Perceptive kid. She releases me and goes back to her picture. “What are you drawing?” I ask. “A forest.” She says. “Forests are dark though. Not bright like a garden.” “Forests can be very dark.” I say, nodding my head. “But they can bright and beautiful too. There are green trees and grass, and butterflies, and birds.” Grace’s face lights up a bit. “Butterflies? Where?” I point to a blank spot on the page. “You could put them there. A bunch of them.”

Knowing how tight knit our family was, both the Rosses and Graham’s I knew better than to put this outsider in our world, but Parker was more than just an outsider to me he was a friend and through the wars and after his recent accomplishment he was becoming family. “I got a flight for Parker, you know my artist Prime Theory, he’s going to do a show either Saturday or Sunday night, that a give us all some shop in N.O. money, give him some exposure and-.” Mama cut me off, “Have your ass work during a time of mourn! How could you be so damn selfish Edily?”

Her mom always grimaced when she’d shown her the bowl of tiny amphibians, their tails bustling behind them as they swam in circles. Grace swirled dark orange paint onto the canvas, attempting to create trees and perhaps the river in front of her. She usually found landscapes uninspired, but now she was determined to paint something. She’d be just like Bob Ross and paint mountains and rivers and happy little trees and a stray bird overhead and clouds and everything banal. If she could catch a squirrel and keep it in her pocket like Bob did, she would do that, too.

she explained. The woman nodded. “I see. Who is your cousin, and what would you have to do if you had lost?” Nate growled, and I smirked. “He didn’t know I was his cousin, so he asked for a date. I made the tattoo the term for my winning because he insulted my friend who appears human. The loser in question is Matty Graycort.” “Wait, Matty Graycort who is a senior at Gayl U, and president of PLP?” she asked.

The forest was surprisingly gentle. No chirping from birds, no predatory animals roamed, even the tall trees refused to dance to the tunes of solemn winds. Beyond this forest was the one and only glorious abode of The Crimson Prowlers Pack where Green would currently be in. Perhaps this forest and its inhabitants feared her wrath too or perhaps I was simply over thinking.

I drag myself lazily out of the tiny bed we both share and head to the bathroom to clean up my face. It has been months since we graduated and getting up early is always my nightmare. After about twenty minutes of Elsa pushing me around, we head to work. The foragers' meeting hall which is what we decided to call the training Grounds is located in the farm reserve area of the compound, since we work closely together. On our way we pass the farmers trying to save the little crops we have left on the other side of the cattle gates. The situation is really getting bad, the crops do not look healthy due to lack of water and faint sun, all due to the effects of the bombs that fell years ago.

he asks while skewering me with his blue eyes. I look out the window at the fields that make up a small portion of Gray Ranch. They have so much acreage it is easy for enemies to ambush them. They have so many small pups to care for at the moment that they have left themselves vulnerable. Without constant vigilance and routine patrols, an enemy could surprise them easily. The scents from their livestock alone could help camouflage an enemy...