Lukisan Langit Novels & Stories

he said with a grin. So I sat down. And as he returned to his desk and started typing away, I opened my sketching app and let my fingers move. At first, I didn’t know what I was drawing. I just let the lines lead me. But slowly, the image became clearer—Lily, sitting on our balcony, holding her favorite bunny and looking out at the sunrise. I remembered that morning. She’d told me the sky looked like strawberry jelly. I’d told her it was just pollution.

"Describe something." I gently take my place beside him. "What do you mean?" "You always make the simplest things so intricate." I rest my head against my pillow and glance over to him. "Okay, well, the night. The sky floats above like a inky mixture of endless possibilities. Millions upon millions of stars—like a artist took white paint and splattered them relentlessly at a black canvas. Each one could hold different words, and they all drift above in an array of lights, shining and dancing, triggering emotions. The moon, silver and sliced, casts its unearthly glow down on us like a spotlight on a stage. You feel as if your life is the main act, but it is not, it is part of exhibition, and

Its walls were adorned with paintings of various sizes, depicting ancient battles, portraits, moon rituals, abstract beauty, natural scenery and mysterious forest landscapes. At the centre of the room stood a large, recently installed canvas. It became Lennon’s focus the moment he entered. He stepped forward and approached the painting. He stopped directly in front of it and studied it slowly and intensely. The painting depicted a pack of wolves in half-shadowed forms standing beneath a dense night sky. Only a faint light was visible, slipping through the clouds, revealing eyes that glowed calmly yet alertly. Lennon raised one hand as if to touch the painting, but stopped a centimetre from t

It is enough to see the owner's heart wants to put in this place. I looked up at the vast night sky. Up there are small twinkling stars. It was as if it was the background for the big and bright moonlight. But anyway, they all create a picture of the sky very splendid. it reminds me of Van Gogh's "Starry Night".

A faint wind entered the room through the archway. It had the sound of someone inhaling and exhaling very gently. Still watching the picture on the wall, Lucian sat at the fire. The soft glow caused the shadows to slowly gild the ancient walls. Morning came without a sound. Though the stars had disappeared, the sky was still bright and clear up there. A pale blue sky with fluffy clouds laying lightly in the air. Awakening first, Serakha made her way out of the ark. She stood close to the entrance, peaking outside to see what was below. Looking back, Estel Crossing was a very small spot on the map. The road seemed to drape itself along the golden and green landscape.

The tear I ripped into the sky the day before had closed quickly, but it left behind shimmering frost trails that drifted across the clouds like someone had painted the heavens with glowing silver streaks. They stayed. They followed the packhouse like lazy celestial crumbs. Lucian pointed up at them while clutching his blanket. “The sky is stalking us. This is not normal.” Elara admired the glittering streaks. “I think it is beautiful.” “It is threatening,” Lucian replied.

Aria’s POV The brushes moved gracefully between my fingers as I studied the final touches on the canvas before me. The painting had evolved into something I hadn’t initially envisioned—a lighthouse standing tall and steadfast, surrounded by a mesmerizing swirl of colors that seemed to represent the changing seasons. Spring’s vibrant greens melted into summer’s golden warmth, which blended into autumn’s fiery hues before softening into winter’s cool blues and whites. The scene was stylized and whimsical, the waves and skies swirling together like a dreamscape.

"Tell me about the picture." Hope looked at the canvas. She touched the wet-looking paint of the clouds. "It's the city," Hope said. "When the rain stops." She pointed to the streaks of yellow and white dripping down from the purple clouds. "See?" Hope said. "I made the sky cry." Aurora looked closer. The drips weren't random. They were deliberate lines of light cutting through the dark. "Why is the sky crying?" Aurora asked. Hope looked at her mother. Her slate-blue eyes were serious. Ancient.