War Of Art Novels & Stories

I sat slowly, crossing my legs, my fingers tapping my knee. “What is this about?” I asked. Mama exhaled shakily. “My daughter…..I want peace…Real peace…Not this… this silent war you both are fighting.” I said nothing. “You girls grew up together,” she continued softly. “Shared the same food, the same room, the same laughter… And look at you now..tears and bitterness… Is this what you want?” I swallowed. “Morher…” She held up her hand. “No…Listen.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Zoya said dismissively as she left for her room. Zoya's room was like a wonderland for different kinds of books, quotes, poetry, art and photos. She loved taking photos a lot and had two cameras which made this quite easy for her. Her wall was plastered with different colors of photos and aesthetic poetry that gives the room a very vibrant feel. It was large and very bright. This was also her favourite part of the house because she gets to do whatever she wanted in there without being criticized or called a nerd except on some occasions. Her room wasn't really like a typical female room, it was more like a library. With the very tall shelves inhabiting hundreds of novels and books, her furni

The war had finally taken place. As the heavy sounds of cannonade were the only thing people heard from the outskirts of the kingdom, they moved to the inner kingdom completely abandoning their homes which was a plus point for their opposing partners. As the war spread to the insides of both the kingdoms by their opposing partners, cannons were thrown at the small towns and cities endangering many people, but that was when both the kings started to realize their grave mistake and the war came to an end without any winners. Caldorus was gravely affected while Dajoah only had the outskirts of the kingdom be affected as the insides of the kingdom were safe.

All eyes were again attentively focused on him, interest rekindled. “Good, my children. War ... well, war is kind of an argument. And it is called a dispute when two parties, i.e. two people, two families, two clans or even two peoples want to claim a certain cause for themselves without the intention of sharing it. Let us take an example: a farmer has a new cow that gives a lot of milk and therefore shares the milk with his neighbor. After a few days the neighbor comes and says that the cow actually belongs to him because it was grazing in his pasture. He demands it for himself and his family, while the cow gives enough milk for both families. Of course, the farmer doesn't see why he should

“You know! The new city major! Lot of stress! Political pressure! The last unsolved streak of homicides changed the seat of power. Wonder what this would do?” “Civil War!” Kane laughed, “What’s it all about?” “These fucking rebels set fire to their old master’s houses. Selected though! It’s weird. The one who abuse them are not targeted, well maybe sometimes, but none of their homes have been set on fire.” “No pattern you say! Why attack at random?” Robert looked at his feet and frowned for a second before speaking. “It’s not all that random. The Parsons traced ancestry to a certain Warwick Ambrosius, great-great grandson of the famous Wendelin Ambrosius.”

The man who had held me so tightly just a few hours ago, the man who had brushed the hair away from my forehead while I cried in a strange bedroom, was pretending I didn't exist. It hurt far more than I expected. The rejection settled deep in my stomach, a heavy, aching weight that made it hard to take a full breath. I felt stupid for thinking things would be different, for thinking the connection we shared in the dark would mean anything in the daylight. "Post-Renaissance art wasn't about morality," Adrian said to the class. He stepped out from behind the podium, his hands casually resting in his pockets. "It was about sending a message. Who can name a piece from this era that was commissio

The Architecture of War "Truth is not a weapon. It is the condition under which weapons become unnecessary." , Myrrhborn Oral Tradition

I stuttered. “Exactly. Your father’s pack is in danger. Our intelligent sources tell us that he is planning to wage a war against your father’s pack. You and I know that your father can not fight off Fenrir alone. Your father’s pack is the weakest of the four packs.” Ryker said, spitting nothing but facts. My jaw clenched. “Why would I be so sure , you are a lair Ryker. You are very cunning and manipulative. I can not place all my eggs in one basket by trusting you.

And they had decided I was bad art. “The ‘Channel War’ is a facile spectacle,” one of them stated, its voice a dry rustle of turning pages. “Beneath our concern. But your persistent, un-curated influence on the primary narrative is an aesthetic blight. You introduce sentiment where there should be rigor. You value ‘truth’ over ‘craft.’” “You’re… you’re kidnapping me over a bad review?” I gasped, the absurdity fighting through the crushing sense of irrelevance they were projecting.

“You know, I haven’t had this much fun since Qin’s war of unification,” chimes Morrtemis with a dreamy expression on her cocoa face. “There used to be an art to war. There was intelligence and even respect for your enemies. Humans don’t fight with honour anymore and it takes the fun out of it,” she sighs in disappointment. “This isn’t meant to be fun, Morrtemis,” Oshmin chastises her. “Well it better be something, because all this waiting is going to put me into a coma,” Merlos complains in her usual apathetic tone.