"the Road" By Cormac Mccarthy Novelas e Histórias

He could clearly see the place where the wolf had come at them, he could still feel the darkness in the air. Now, the road looked plain, it looked normal, it looked like the same road he often passed by. He put a shutter to his thoughts as he drove further away. Then there's the road where they found the dead goat. Shit, his normal town had so many abnormal places for him these days. For them. The dream of woods, the dead goat in Falcon Cross, the wolf in the Gelder Road... Oh, and the school, where Rory saw the shadow guy - thing, whatever.

“Yes, a ride home would be much appreciated.” Booker nodded and waved his hand toward the roll-up door. “Nice to meet you,” I said to Mack, and headed outside. “You too, babe,” Mack said to my back. Booker led me to his Ford F-150, and I turned to face him. “Can I borrow your phone please?” “What?” “Your phone. May I borrow it for a second?” He reached into his pocket and handed it to me. “Knock yourself out.” I stepped in front of the truck and took a photo of it, along with the license plate, texting the photos to Kim so she’d know who was driving me home and when I was leaving. At least if he did murder me, they’d be able to track down my killer.

Some hotel room echoing with the ghosts of ten thousand strangers, picking up my echoes for a night or three or five until I’m gone again. Always on the road for money and for love. It’s why I’m here now: crappy diner with fluorescent lighting and blue plastic booths, the best this town has to offer. Any port in a storm though, and boy is it a storm out there. Enough to run even me off the road, mangle my tire against broken debris sloshing along the asphalt. Fate telling me to stop so that he could find me. With his pretty brown eyes and his blue-checkered shirt, coming out of the dark like a knight in a shining tow truck.

Just the ghost of her scent lingering in my head. “Leave my head alone, you evil beast!!” I snarled to the silence. I finished the cigarette in three drags, crushed it in the ashtray, lit another. Smoked half the pack before I could drive again. Hands shaking. Pathetic. The North Coast road narrowed as I neared the drop-off station—an old pack outpost where vehicles were left for the final stretch. Beyond it, the terrain turned treacherous: sheer cliffs, hidden coves, no roads. Smugglers loved it.

I jumped on one at 2am. Imagine getting onto a motorcycle ride at 2am with a stranger. I was so scared but I had no choice. Suppose he killed me, rapped me, kidnapped me or robbed me! I started imagining alot of things. What kind of relationship was I into?I prayed to God to help me reach home safe

The wind had picked up, wet and cold and biting into any exposed flesh without apology. They passed towns and cities, each smaller than the last until it seemed there was no life left out on the moors except the handful of men and women on bikes and in trucks. They were speeding down the road which sliced through the never-ending blanket of grey boulders covered in pale moss and rust coloured flora that dipped and rose like waves, frozen in time. The road was surprisingly well paved despite its remoteness, the black asphalt shot off into the distance and eventually disappeared from view under the looming mountain range.

Dirman, who used to be idealistic, had gradually turned into a pragmatist, being carried away by the currents of the camp that legalized various ways to achieve goals. The distance between Hotel Brown Palace and the Siupala University was not so far, about 3 km. When Dirman's car was less than 500 meters before the campus, the traffic was congested. Inevitably, Dirman's road was slightly hampered. The passing vehicles were running at less than 20 km/h. There was reconstruction for the water channel on the side of the road. There was seen the project officer who worked to repair the channel. There were also security officers trying to unravel the congestion so that traffic returned smoothly.

An eight years old kid facing a place with nothing but ruins and ashes as well as spooky whispering on the air was a horror that could put you in trauma for a life time. His dad gave him his first task and that was to harvest a soul when he didn’t even know how to do it. He was left there alone in the middle of the crossroad. There’s nothing much has changed. The cold paved road with some sand, the bleak sky, spooky atmosphere, some crumbled old buildings, wandering spirits and whispering of hatreds and regrets. These are the true form of Judgment Road and only demons, angels, or guardians can see it.

and closes the door behind him. I hold my breath until I hear the truck leave, then walk to the window to watch it drive down the road until I can’t see or hear it anymore. Then I sink to my knees and cry until I can’t cry anymore. The mixture of thoughts and emotions is so hard to explain. Deep down, I know Rob"s full of shit, and at the same time, I believe I’m a lazy fat-ass, and everyone thinks so.

They stopped at a respectful distance, neither group claiming the center of the road. Words were exchanged—where they were coming from, what lay ahead. Nothing urgent. Nothing withheld. The road made such exchanges efficient, stripping them of ceremony. When they parted, Arthur felt a subtle dissatisfaction. Not with the people. With the speed of it. The road encouraged movement without reflection. He did not stop them, but he adjusted their pace slightly, introducing a fraction of resistance where none was required. The others followed without comment. He noted that too. By afternoon, clouds thinned and light sharpened. The road descended toward a broad stretch of land where fields had once