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The Girl Who Loves To Sing.
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This story follows the author and a girl called Akari, whose passion is singing. Akari believes singing lifts her spirit. But she was not allowed to sing in her home and neighbouring areas so she ran away from there.
She's a pretty girl, and the author mets her but is Akari all that she seems?
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ᑕᕼᗩᑭTEᖇ- 1
It's November, the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds and sad hymns of the sea. The grass is turning brown and yellow. Crushed, it still smells sweet. The afternoon sun shimmers on the oak leaves and turns them a glittering silver.
The Sky is blue and clear.
I kept the window open and was enjoying peanuts, 'It tastes really good.' I said. But suddenly I heard a girl singing in the forest. The wind was still and trees were hushed, and the song came to me clearly; but it was not the words– which I couldn't follow– or the rise and fall of the melody which held me in thrall, but the voice itself, which was a young and a tender voice.
ᑕᕼᗩᑭTEᖇ 2
I left my home and scrambled down the slope, slipping on fallen pine needles. I was following that mellifluous voice coming from the forest and when I reached to the bottom of the slope the singing had stopped.
I saw the face of a...
This story follows the author and a girl called Akari, whose passion is singing. Akari believes singing lifts her spirit. But she was not allowed to sing in her home and neighbouring areas so she ran away from there.
She's a pretty girl, and the author mets her but is Akari all that she seems?
•─────────────────•
ᑕᕼᗩᑭTEᖇ- 1
It's November, the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds and sad hymns of the sea. The grass is turning brown and yellow. Crushed, it still smells sweet. The afternoon sun shimmers on the oak leaves and turns them a glittering silver.
The Sky is blue and clear.
I kept the window open and was enjoying peanuts, 'It tastes really good.' I said. But suddenly I heard a girl singing in the forest. The wind was still and trees were hushed, and the song came to me clearly; but it was not the words– which I couldn't follow– or the rise and fall of the melody which held me in thrall, but the voice itself, which was a young and a tender voice.
ᑕᕼᗩᑭTEᖇ 2
I left my home and scrambled down the slope, slipping on fallen pine needles. I was following that mellifluous voice coming from the forest and when I reached to the bottom of the slope the singing had stopped.
I saw the face of a...
