روايات وقصص ضمن Yellow Wallpaper

The pain in my arm is blurring into my skull, a headache so intense it might be trying to break out through my eye sockets. I flop back onto the pillow. The ceiling stares down, covered in nicotine stains and a Rorschach of mold that’s slowly colonizing the edges of the drywall. The peeling wallpaper, never properly stuck in the first place, is alive at the corners, shifting in the draft, breathing in and out with every pulse of my fever. I watch it crawl for a while, letting the room swim. Time gets weird—one second I’m counting the cracks in the plaster, the next I’m blinking through whole minutes, maybe hours.

Suddenly, the blindfold was yanked off, and she blinked against the harsh light, her vision slowly adjusting. The room she found herself in was a dismal sight. The walls were bare, painted a sickly shade of yellow that had faded and chipped over time. Dirt and grime clung to every surface, giving the space an aura of neglect. The floor was covered in dust, and bits of debris littered the corners. A single dim light bulb hung from the ceiling, casting weak, flickering light that barely penetrated the gloom. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and decay, making Flora's nose wrinkle in disgust.

“Because my daughter… was one of the brides. She vanished on her wedding night. I stayed to hear her voice again. I stayed because I hoped one day… she’d come back.” A shudder passed through the floor beneath us. The walls groaned, this time more violently. “We have to go,” she said. “Now. The house doesn’t want us here anymore.” --- We ran. The west wing, once pristine, was now war-torn. The wallpaper peeled off in long strips. Paintings distorted, their subjects screaming silently from inside gilded frames. One chandelier collapsed behind us, shattering into a thousand diamond-like shards. I stumbled, catching myself against the wall. The wallpaper burned my palm—literally burned. I looked

I’m barely healed from giving birth, and I haven’t eaten a real, hot meal in weeks. Maybe months. My body revolts against my mind, and I relax, letting Cosette guide me up the grand staircase. My worn boots leave a trail of damp on the crimson carpet runner covering what looks like pure black marble. I keep my eyes on my boots until Cosette turns us into a room on the second floor. The yellow room. It’s aptly named. Sprays of muted yellow wallpaper hug each wall. A four poster bed bigger than my apartment invites me in. “I’ll have some flowers brought up to warm the place up a bit,” Cosette says absently as she lets go of my wrist and disappears into an ensuit

Amelia entered the beautiful hallway, the wooden floor gleamed, and her eye was taken immediately with the beautiful hand-painted copy of the Georgian Chinese yellow wallpaper. It was like walking into an exotic garden. Birds of Paradise fluttered about the wallpaper their long red and blue tail feathers curling among the branches of hand-painted trees and flowers. Amelia had never seen anything so stunning; she loved it! She turned in a circle taking in all of the hallway: the original marble fireplace, the sweeping staircase, and the Chippendale tables. The two red canopied leather porter's chairs sat in front of the fireplace. It looked a comfortable and sn

The yellow was overwhelming, making my eyes water. Had she lost her mind? This woman drove up the fucking wall. Fuck! As I scanned the room, my eyes landed on a figure lying on the floor in the corner. Heaven was sprawled out, wearing devilishly short shorts that left little to the imagination. Her long, toned legs kicked lazily in the air as she read from a book, her mouth stuffed with Skittles. The candy's bright colors seemed to match the yellow of the room, creating a jarring, surreal effect.

The bed was against a wall of a room that was so big, her apartment above The Crimson Chalice could fit inside several times over. She didn't have anything holding her down, per se—but her body was still so stiff and sore that it's not like she could have wandered very far anyway. Across the way, there were thick curtains of deep purple and red hanging from top to bottom. The wallpapering was a gold and black damask design, and the raging fireplace across the way from her—while being the last thing she wanted to see sitting in her current state of overheating—was also sending her into flights of fancy concerning whether or not she'd somehow been zapped off to the age of some aristocratic Vic

I managed out, my voice almost a whisper. James pushed the phone closer to me and leaned back on his seat, turning it a bit to give me more privacy. His little gesture kind of warmed my heart, giving me the boost of energy to speak and when I took up the phone to speak loudly, all that met me was an enlarged image of a yellow themed sponge cake. What? I blinked in disbelief, tapping the screen but got nothing else other than a view of other phone applications. So that means... that...that initial screen... of a YELLOW CAKE was James's wallpaper?

“Why are you sighing anyway?” “Come here and help me pick a product.” She quickly stood up and walked towards my chair and I pulled her on my lap, inhaling her sweet cherry scent, and showed her the screen of the laptop. “This is purple damask wallpaper and this is red and black vinyl wallpaper. Which one do you think will suit this room?” Her eyes were wide and glittery as she squinted at the three-dimensional model of the room and aped at me. “Is that a pole?”

And Vahini shared that vision down to the core of it. The walls are painted yellow, the individual beds have matching yellow blankets, and the ginormous bookshelf smack against the center wall is a dark yellow —the books arranged in the order of a rainbow curtsy of Vahini. Both of their dressers are white with little yellow sunflowers, and in fact even the old bollywood movie posters on Vahini’s side of the wall are color-coded in yellow.