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Quo2

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3 views

Quo2

Uploaded by

Hey Ummm
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
Available Formats
Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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1.

Dark/Gothic Story

The House of Forgotten Whispers


In the heart of a forest no one dared enter stood a house cloaked in decay. Its shutters hung loose,
creaking against the wind, and ivy crawled over its crumbling facade like skeletal fingers. Locals called it
the House of Forgotten Whispers.

Aurelia, driven by a dare—or perhaps something darker—stepped inside one night. The air was thick,
almost sentient, and the scent of mildew burned her nostrils. She shivered, gripping her flashlight, as her
steps echoed across warped wooden floors.

The whispers started softly. At first, they sounded like the wind finding its way through cracks, but soon
they became distinct words. "Why are you here?" "Leave while you can."

Despite the warnings, Aurelia pressed on. Each room she entered seemed to pull her deeper, the walls
closing in. Portraits of long-dead strangers stared at her, their faces smudged, yet their eyes somehow
alive. One painting seemed to shift under her gaze; the figure within turned its head.

Aurelia froze. Her flashlight flickered, and the whispers grew louder. Suddenly, a door slammed shut
behind her, trapping her in a dimly lit parlor. A mirror in the corner cracked as her reflection began to
smile—though her lips hadn’t moved.

"Who are you?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"You."

Her reflection stepped forward, pressing against the glass as if it were water. Aurelia tried to scream, but
the sound was swallowed by the house. The whispers crescendoed, overlapping in a deafening
cacophony.

By morning, the house stood silent again. Locals whispered of the strange figure now visible in the parlor
window—a girl whose eyes seemed alive, forever staring out, mouth twisted in a silent plea.

1. Realistic Fiction

The Last Train Home


Mira boarded the last train from the city, her bag heavy with books and her heart heavier with
exhaustion. She worked two jobs to make ends meet, and tonight had been especially grueling. The train
car was nearly empty, save for a man in a wrinkled suit dozing off and a teenager absorbed in his phone.

As the train rattled through the dark, Mira’s thoughts wandered. She was used to this—being invisible in
a city that never paused to notice her.

At the next stop, an older woman with tired eyes and a soft smile sat across from her. She held a small
bouquet of flowers, their fragrance faint but sweet.

“Long day?” the woman asked gently.

Mira hesitated, then nodded. There was something warm about her tone.
The woman smiled. “These are for my granddaughter. She’s turning five tomorrow. I haven’t seen her in
months.”

“That’s lovely,” Mira said, forcing a smile.

The woman leaned closer. “You remind me of my daughter. She works hard like you. Sometimes too
hard.”

Mira felt a lump rise in her throat. “It’s just what you do, isn’t it? To get by.”

The woman studied her for a moment, then handed Mira one of the flowers. “Take this. A little beauty
never hurts, does it?”

Mira accepted the flower, its delicate petals trembling in her hand as the train pulled into her stop. For
the first time in weeks, she smiled—not because she had to, but because she felt it.

As she stepped off the train, the scent of the flower lingered, a small reminder that even in the darkest
moments, kindness could bloom.

2. Based on True Events

The Boy with the Kite


In the small coastal town of Tamil Nadu, there lived a boy named Arun who loved to fly kites. Every
evening after school, he would run to the beach with his favorite red kite, its long tail weaving through
the salty air.

One afternoon, Arun noticed a crowd gathering near the shore. A boat had capsized, and the fishermen
were struggling to rescue the passengers trapped in the waves.

Without thinking, Arun tied a note to his kite: Help needed—boat sinking near the lighthouse. He let the
kite soar high, its vibrant red cutting through the blue sky, visible for miles.

The message reached the mainland, where a local rescue team spotted the kite and deciphered the
note. Within minutes, help arrived, saving all the passengers.

Arun’s quick thinking became the talk of the town. The red kite, once just a toy, was now a symbol of
courage and ingenuity.

Years later, Arun became a marine engineer, inspired by the event that had taught him the power of
action—even in the smallest forms.

3. Slice of Life

The Coffee Shop Stranger


Every morning at 8:30, Priya ordered her latte from the same corner coffee shop. She liked routine; it
gave her a sense of control in a chaotic world.
One day, as she waited in line, she noticed a man sketching in a notebook at the window seat. His
movements were quick but deliberate, his eyes darting between the paper and the people around him.

When Priya got her coffee, she found herself walking over. “Excuse me,” she said, “but what are you
drawing?”

The man looked up, surprised. “Oh, just the people here,” he said, holding up his sketch. It was a lively
scene of the café, with customers chatting, the barista steaming milk, and even a glimpse of Priya
herself.

“That’s... me?” she asked, pointing to her tiny likeness.

He nodded, smiling shyly. “You seemed lost in thought. It was interesting to capture.”

They talked for a while, sharing stories about creativity and the little moments that make life beautiful.

The next morning, Priya found herself looking for him. He wasn’t there, but on her usual table was a
small sketch: a portrait of her with the words, Keep wondering.

Sometimes, strangers leave behind more than memories; they leave inspiration.

1. Mystery Story

The Vanishing Room


The hotel was ordinary, almost bland, except for Room 413. Staff whispered about it, though no one
dared linger near its door. It wasn’t listed in the reservation system, and yet every so often, a guest
would swear they’d stayed there.

When Olivia checked in for her weekend getaway, the receptionist gave her a key for Room 412. But
when she reached the hallway, there it was: 413.

Curious, she turned the knob. The room was pristine, bathed in soft amber light. A record player sat in
the corner, spinning a tune she couldn’t quite place. The air smelled faintly of lavender.

Exhausted from her journey, Olivia settled into the armchair. As she sipped her tea, she noticed a
photograph on the nightstand—a family smiling by a lake. The strange part? One of the children in the
photo was her.

The room tilted. Olivia blinked hard, her heart pounding. She didn’t remember this photo or the family.
When she looked closer, her own reflection in the glass frame blinked at her—out of sync with her
movements.

Panicked, she bolted out of the room. But when she glanced back, the number had changed. 413 was
gone.

She asked the staff about the room. They exchanged uneasy glances. “We don’t have a Room 413,” they
insisted. “You must be mistaken.”

But Olivia couldn’t forget the photo—or how, as she walked away, the melody from the record player
followed her down the hall.

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