The Story Of An Hour Imagery Novels & Stories

She stared at her reflection on the beautifully etched mirror and wondered at the mirror, “hmm, this design is unique and is beautifully engraved. Wait… What? I can’t pretend as if nothing happened. First, the weather is hot, the chilly wind came. Second, Mr Alex living room was not airy earlier, I thought he turned on the fan but he wasn’t and he came from the kitchen, so it must be the same chilly wind. Air is one of the five essentials and it's normal for air or wind to be found everywhere, why do I overthink and make things complicate…” After she gets cleaned up, she searched the cabinet for the dry towel to wipe. It was the same chilly wind that entered through the slim opening of the r

Actually, now that she looks around there's glass everywhere. She must be in something like shock, because even now, it takes her a few minutes to realize this is blood. Her blood. Last night was not a dream, it wasn't a crazy figment of her imagination—it was real and somehow, she survived it. She tosses her head from side to side causing her auburn ponytail to swish behind her softly at first, then gradually more violent. She's trying to shake all the bad memories out of it. Whipping around, she breaks into a run back the way she had come. She sprints the entire way home without ever looking back. When she finally collapses on the porch steps with her head in her hands, she allows herself

A very strange dream! At first, she did not remember the details of that dream clearly. All she could recall was a man hugging a young girl beneath a large cherry blossom tree. The scene resembled a painting. In fact, it was almost like an illusion. So beautiful to behold but also so heart-wrenching to look at. You know. The beautiful "illusion" actually represents a wound. A tragedy... Capable of shattering one's soul and body upon witnessing. That was all she could remember.