Poem Novel Painting Statue Flower Novels & Stories

There are paintings of every style and medium I can imagine, as well as sculptures of clay, wood, metal, even marble. I stop in front of an oil painting depicting a nude woman lying on a bed of wildflowers. Her arm is curled around her head, her leg slightly raised. It's a very sensual image, and I raise my eyebrow and look back at Calder. "Interesting choice," he says, moving closer. "I'll admit, this piece certainly has its charms." His eyes roam over the canvas before flicking back to me. "You're wrong, though." "I never said this was my guess."

The flowers haven’t fully bloomed but I touch them anyway, brushing their petals like they might answer me. This was my mother’s favorite place. Before the war. Before the fire. Before she burned through our lives like a curse we couldn’t outrun. She used to tell me that moonflowers only bloom for those who know how to wait. I don’t want to wait anymore. I kneel beside the stone fountain and dip my fingers into the water. It’s cold. So cold it numbs me. I speak softly. I don’t even know why. Maybe to the wind. Maybe to her.

" Louis patted Adrian's shoulder, made the final step towards our house… And pushed the door open. An overwhelming stench of blood came rushing out, filling the air. Sprays of crimson stained the walls, and chaotic claw marks littered the floor. Every single detail seemed to tell a story of the agonizing and horrific slaughter that had taken place in this very house. "Rena!"

His words kept repeating themselves again and again like a broken record. Change of plans, little flower. I'm not letting you out of my sight.

A few stooping sunflowers growing on a rocky land came next, standing across a hill with a crowd of giant thorns, yet the first laced sunflower remained tainted and the ever-standing one never let go of its rough stem, which still bruised the other three flowers. I paused before dipping my hands into my pockets and staring at the last painting, ignoring the other ones that followed it. The art looked interesting but the knowledge of it evaded me. I wondered if Flynn knew about it when he came to stand beside me. He placed his right palm on the wall, caressing one of the bruised petals of the red sunflower.

I wiped my tears away and straightened my back, forcing myself to look composed. “So, I’ll leave you in the past, too.” Then, I turned and walked away. As I passed the largest painting in the gallery, I paused. Its title was ‘Rebirth.’ In the painting, a girl ran freely under the sunlight, her back turned to the viewer, and the girl was Jane. However, in the lower right corner, almost hidden, was a small cluster of white flowers. They were lilies. Ethan once told me I was the only flower in his barren life. Now, those flowers had become nothing more than roadside decoration—something to be trampled without a second thought.

There was something eerily beautiful but sad and harrowing in the foreboding poem the little voice sang so gently: Red flowers, red flowers… Blooming with blood, a pledge of spring which never came Red flowers, red flowers An omen, here, red flowers will never be the same. Red flowers, red flowers… In the midst of the misery of hell Red flowers, red flowers Red lips of my bedtime stories, which only a mother could tell. Red flowers, red flowers Red as the lips which always kissed my forehead goodnight. Red flowers, red flowers Judas' kiss of her cold lips which smothered the last ray of hope and light

The tranquil setting of an evening gradually came into view before his eyes as the time passed. Every day, he takes in the splendor of the setting that he fashioned. But honestly, he always felt that this scene had nothing special to hold his mind. Perhaps, he was longing for the figure of the owner of this place, not the beauty of the scene. As he stretched his hand out in front of him, a flower suddenly dislodged itself from the branch and flew into his hand. This rose, which is a red velvet rose, is stunning. There is nothing that can be done to improve the shade of red that appears on these petals; they have reached their full potential. It is beautiful, fragile, yet thorny; this beauty

Matthan revealed. “Maybe she cheated, maybe she bribed the appraisers?!” Flavius stated “I-I d-didn’t.” the young girl spoke the truth. “Nah, I don’t believe you one bit.” “We are here.” Matthan proclaimed, staring at a huge statue looking like the Red-blooded armour which stood high on a fountain surrounded by beautiful flowers of various kinds, one could see a large house just above the garden floor. Flavius sniffed the fragranced atmosphere bearing a sense of comfort then he laughed.