One Hundred Years Of Solitude Novels & Stories

Snow settling into her hair, into the quiet she left behind. I didn’t follow. But for the first time in years, the lodge didn’t feel empty when I went back inside and right then I knew the answer to my eleven years of loneliness.. There’s no way am staying another year without Solane in my life!

If one looked down from a high place, one could not help but feel that the small courtyard and its owner were isolated by other surrounding buildings and the Gibson family members. For the past ten years, Solana lived alone in the small courtyard. She had no servants to serve her and refused to be served by others. Everything was done on her own, and she usually did not talk to others either. If she were not practicing, her only way to rest besides sleeping was to sit in the corridor outside the house, hug her knees, and look at the sky. Sometimes, Solana would stare at the sky for the whole night.

Christmas was the reading of the book. This Christmas, Don's book was a novel—Norwegian, which was not a coincidence, a novel by the same writer whose essays were in the Norway reading programme. The novel was called The Dark Year, and it was about a man who spent a winter alone in a cabin in the far north of Norway, experiencing the full darkness for the first time. Don had been saving it since September, when he had finished the essays. He had placed it on the shelf above his desk, the designated holding place for the Christmas book, and had not opened it once.

he said, taking something out of his pocket. … Escuridade stares at the vial of black powder in his hand, then at the small, jagged cut on his finger. The silence that followed was heavy, pressing against her chest like physical weight. “Ten years,” Escuridade whispered. “She has been in this state for ten years.” The realization hit Escuridade with the force of a physical blow. While Mestre Escuro had been building an army, while they had been fighting for freedom– Emile has been right here, beneath their feet, rotting in a cage. She looked at the girl again. The muttering, the scratching, the way her body seemed to resist the very air around her. It was not just madness. It was a slow, ago

I had been shown the real thing today. What a real beast he was. It was terrifying. If that were to go inside me, one motion could do what my husband did six-fold? Jetson was not entirely wrong. My husband was away from home most of the time. This fertile land of mine has gone untended. I had been burning with desire, like longing for rain in a drought. Watching the scene unfold, an indescribable urge turned into a warm current and surged up through my lower abdomen.

I manage. Garzolo laughs. “Coma for five years. Woke up hungry. Heard stories of the Don who rearranged the world and I got up. I buried my family that Dante killed and learned patience. I learned knives. Seven years of patience.” He taps the side of his head where the bullet scar is. “Now you’ll help me finish the story.” My fingers brush something cold at my side. A dull knife someone abandoned near the toolbox. My heart hammers. I edge my hand inch by inch until the blade is in my palm, but the bindings twist and burn. I can’t free my feet, but I can reach.

Barefoot, Anthony wandered the streets, the sharp stones biting into his feet. He thought of the day Jessica fell, the gravel slicing her hand. The pain she must have felt! Then, at a coffee shop on the corner, he saw a silhouette through the window. Wearing a light blue dress that screamed Jessica, Anthony burst into the coffee shop and swept the girl into a desperate embrace. "Jess, you've got to hear me out," he pleaded, his voice shaking. "The whole marriage certificate thing—it's all a big mix-up. You're the one I want as my wife, always have been."

A sharp pain stabbed through my chest, so intense that even my soul trembled. All these years had passed, and Mom still couldn't forgive me. I was the one who killed Dad. I deserved to die a thousand times over. Years ago, my aunt and uncle died in an accident, leaving my cousin Freya an orphan. Dad felt sorry for her. She was alone in the world, so he took her in. But Freya and I never got along. We were always arguing over the smallest thing. Three years ago, on a rainy night, we had a huge fight. Furious, Freya ran out of the house.