The Road Not Taken Novels & Stories

I said, and kissed her forehead. The road to Moonshadow wound south through green hills and long, quiet valleys. I had traveled it once before, in the opposite direction, on a cold night with my child in my arms and no idea where I was going. I remembered every turn. I remembered the way the moon had fallen across the road, white and indifferent.

Some were dealing with or preparing for the unexpected loss of a loved one, and others were searching for their destined route on a road map previously unwritten. In the end, they all came out of it. While not unscathed–still forever and ever grateful for the lessons learned; Finding themselves, and one another. Hollis Bogard and Whitney York, along with everyone connected to them, turned out to be the ultimate proof of the famously beautiful statement “not all who wander are lost.”

The tall majestic trees shaded the dirt road almost completely; however, a few places where the leaves of the trees did not cover, streams of sunlight poured in. I didn't know this road! I never knew it existed! Wow! The sunlight bounced off particles in the air, making it seem as though small little insects were flying around. The road, the woods, were silent.Peaceful. This road seemed to have been forgotten.There was not even any other single car or bike,or people .There were no garbage littered along the side of it. I liked this road! It was an excellent contrast from the road which i used to take. I looked outside the car's tempered glass,and Dylan looked at me from time to time while dr

Sarah Here I am with a shovel in my hand, in a cemetery, digging my own grave! Okay fine, greatly exaggerated. But I may as well be doing that with the decision I'm about to make. I'll probably be dead by the end of the day. I wasn't at all certain about it... But come on, when have I really been certain about anything in my life?

He sat feeling uncomfortable, he wondered what Sarah was up to. "Ryan, Incase I die, do not weep by my grave." "How...like what do you mean?" He looked at her perplexed. "Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there; I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow, I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight.

As Vicky bid farewell to Lila and the old man, the mountains seemed to stand witness to their poignant goodbye, a testament to the enduring power of love and sacrifice. "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;" Robert Frost says

Do I go to the right or to the left? One path was filled with tall green trees and flowers growing on the side. The road was smooth and leading upwards, to the lush green hills on the horizon. Meanwhile, the other path had all sorts of wild plants growing erratically on it, some of them were thorny and prickly. The road was beaten up and it was leading downwards, to some place I couldn't even see where. Toto, I have a feeling we're not in New York City anymore... How did I end up here again? And how was I supposed to get home?

I hadn’t seen summer in so, so long… I turned to look the other way. It was dawn. I turned back for a moment, squinting between the two roads. Yep. One was dusk, one was dawn. But what did that mean? I took a small step closer towards the dawn path. This path was overgrown, with knots of thorns sprawling over the uneven ground. Mud slicked the earth and twigs hung down over it. Snow clung to the barren branches of the trees. Even as I stared down it, a chilled breeze swept over me. I shivered.

The sun, relentless and unforgiving, beat down on the dusty path leading from the servants’ quarters to the main house. I was ten, and the path was etched into my memory, every pebble, every crack. It was a route I knew intimately, yet one I was rarely allowed to fully explore. My world was largely confined to the small, neat rooms behind the imposing mansion, a world of hushed conversations and the ever-present scent of cleaning products and warm food.

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