People Of The Sun Book นิยาย & เรื่องราว

"Just get some pizzas. Oh, breadsticks and applesauce for Kas. Do you want anything else, Baby?" "A banana would be great. I'm really hungry." Bronx smiles. "Get the lady a banana, Milo!" I turn back to the book I'm reading. It is written in old English, so it's difficult to understand. I flip the page to find a beautiful hand-painted illustration. It is a depiction of the Moon Goddess. There's a man standing next to her that looks like a king. They are surrounded by children. She is holding a baby in her arms with gray hair and violet eyes. The title on the next page says 'Menae - Children of Selene'. No freaking way.

'Life takes us to unexpected places... love brings us. The sun loved the moon so much, He died every night just to let her breath.There are two people you'll meet in your life. One will run a finger down the index of who you are and jump straight to the parts of you that peak their interest. The other will take his or her time reading through every one of your chapters and maybe fold corners of you that inspired them most. You will meet these two people; it is a given. It is the third that you'll never see coming. That one person who not only finishes your sentences, but keeps the book.'

Chapter-115 (Officer John in danger) The morning is deep, the bright sun is completely out. Even the quiet footsteps of the people can be heard, and the animals are starting to go out. The fiery red sun finally broke through the entanglement of the white clouds, revealing half a smile. A few small white clouds in the sky, like jasmine flowers with gold edges, rushed out of the clouds. The morning yarn gradually shattered, lingering, hovering, like a light smoke rising, sprinkling the golden sun on the hillside, shining on the smiling face of the hardworking people.

So she simply picked Sunshine up by her hand and gave her two big noogies on each side of her head. Naraja rubbed the back of his neck while chuckling at Teresa and Sunshine as they were now in their own little world, but only because Sunshine had to be reprimanded for her small actions of a child, but yet rude in the end. Naraja was now starting to come down off of his laughter and to terms with everyone here and how they were as people. As human beings. Even if he didn’t know all the answers right now for himself and this place, he at least had these people right in front of him to help him find the “Red Book Of Memories”.... Whatever the hell that means.

“So that way.” 16B was a much larger section than I expected. Still, it made sense since wolves were always passing down stories to the younger generations, true or not. “Found it,” I said. It took forty-five minutes but I found a book on the Moon Blessed that was not a kid's bedtime story. “When the Goddess becomes a man,” I read out the title. From the cover, I could tell it was still a fiction story for the most part. But it was better than nothing at all.

"Because I couldn't help it." The sun was fading away, the sunlight was fading. The faint scent of the area attracts people. The birds have found their nest after a hard day's work. The sun man no longer had the patience to witness all the scenes that were happening on the earth. He was completely gone, the last rays of sunlight still reflected on the multi-shaped clouds. Darkness spread across the sky. The scene fades, and the white mist flickered in some places. There are few people on the road, sometimes some people bring buffaloes back late and yell at them to go faster. “It went by so fast. It was so bright a few seconds ago, but now it's gone."

"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.

Diffracted Universe. Earth. It was now midday, and the sun beat down brightly. A group of young men and women swam, played, and sunbathed on a golden beach, interacting with each other and enhancing each other's feelings. For example, one of the youth, Autumn, was pushed down onto the beach chair by a hot woman, who said, "Brother, the sun is so hot, I will give you sunscreen!" Then. As the words were spoken.

Her tears dried on her face as the sea breeze blew. "I'll live well from now onward, Jo," she said, facing the sea. "And on your behalf as well." As the sun set, her figure gradually disappeared into the distance, and my soul finally walked toward that warm light in the sky.

I swear. She sparkles and twinkles and blinks with honey brown light in the wake of daylight's rigor mortis. She shimmers. Glimmers. And burns. They say that no matter how long the night is, eventually, day will break, right? But what if your Sun was not a Sun. What if there was no guarantee that the Sun will show up when morning finally comes. What if your Sun was a person, not a ball of hydrogen and helium burning fierce and bright, zillions of miles away. What if your Sun didn't need to rise; rather, you needed it, or him, or her, to walk into your life before you could see clear skies.