The Road Not Taken Short Story の小説・ストーリー

It was as if she was lightning they could not reach. Reaching a junction of three separate paths, she recalled the poem 'The Road Not Taken' by Robert Frost. He was her favorite poet. Elsie's heart raced in her chest due to the physical activity and panic. She closed her eyes for a second and chose the first road, taking off at the same speed. She endured the excruciating pain of the wounded leg and blood dripping from her fingers caused by her attempt to escape. Back in City B, on a private jet that had just landed, Aiden picked up his suitcase to exit, Sebastian followed suit. Aiden, after receiving the news of his wife's betrayal, had no choice but to return home and cut his business trip

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?

"You are nothing but a weakling. All women are!!!!" Elena snapped her eyes open, staring up at the dark ceiling. Everywhere was so dark because it was night time and not day time. She sat upright, snatched the pack of cigarettes from the bedside table, lit it up, getting out of bed and walking out of the bedroom. She took a long drag, coming out of the house into the cold dark night. People say life is a journey, it's more like a long narrow road with no destination or ending. You either get lost or found while going through the road, if you get lost that option brings death but if you get found that option means you have reached your destination or the end of your journey and it brings life

He said, "Everyone is stuck here. If I were to clear a path just for you, others would call it a misuse of power. Daphne, are you just trying to get me in trouble?" My mother was so anxious that she began sweating profusely. She yelled, "This is a matter of life and death! Is this how you police officers do your job?" Half an hour ago, I returned to the day my father collapsed. Still stuck in traffic, I did not ask my husband, Jonathan Reed, who was conducting the traffic, for help. Instead, I forced my way through the stream of cars and turned sharply into a side road with fewer vehicles. I did not even have the time to step on the gas pedal when Francis appeared, blocking my car.

on the base had been re-engraved. But below it, a smaller line had been added. 'Even if you don't return, may you still have a light.' I looked at it for a long time. Then, I placed the lamp at the very bottom of the storage cabinet. As the door closed, Tristan lowered his head across the street. He came a few more times after that. Each time, he stood across the street. Sometimes, he brought a cup of hot coffee; sometimes, he just stayed for a while.

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.

Another detail about my love story, about the first time I saw Him. Many people say that the person you meet and fall in love is never right one for you but just an infactuation. Please I beg to defer. Amidst the confusion of friendship, love at first sure, tired of love and living my weaknesses away, , I noticed that young man was special. I am not so sure of what he looked like on that first night when he visited aside his soft palms because and, because I can testify that the love had closed down most of my senses.

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.”

Hearing that, Edward Crayon quickly gestured for the driver to get the hell out of that place before another car got to their back and the driver immediately did as he was asked and drove the car backward before finding a way to have a u-turn and drove away from the road that was undone. The new road was lonely and free. There were not more than two cars on the road and they were moving past them. There were only trees and trees on the side of the road, beautiful trees and plants. The lonely road felt long as Edward Crayon returned his gaze to the newspaper that he was reading. “How many minutes would it take for us to get home?” he asked the driver. “Thirty minutes remaining.” Thirty minute

“Is that what you want, Margaret? After all the years we’ve lived together.” A feeling of guilt rushed over me. I was like a child at a crossroads. In front of me were two roads that were both covered in fog. I didn’t know what was waiting for me at the end of the road. However, suddenly on the other road, I saw a man extending his hand. He called out. “Hold my hand. Don’t be afraid. I will always take care of you. Come on, take my hand.” However, on the other side of the street, out of the fog, came a man who just stood staring at me without saying or doing anything.