هذا القسم يحتوي علي العديد من القصص والروايات باللغة الإنجليزية

(Stories and novels) القصص والروايات
الرواية هي سرد نثري طويل يصف شخصيات خيالية أو واقعية وأحداثاً على شكل قصة متسلسلة، كما أنها أكبر الأجناس القصصية من حيث الحجم وتعدد الشخصيات وتنوع الأحداث، وقد ظهرت في أوروبا بوصفها جنساً أدبياً مؤثراً في القرن الثامن عشر، والرواية حكاية تعتمد السرد بما فيه من وصف وحوار وصراع بين الشخصيات وما ينطوي عليه ذلك من تأزم وجدل وتغذيه الأحداث
A novel is a relatively long work of narrative fiction, normally written in prose form, and which is typically published as a book. The present English word for a long work of prose fiction derives from the Italian novella for "new", "news", or "short story of something new", itself from the Latin novella, a singular noun use of the neuter plural of novellus, diminutive of novus, meaning "new". Walter Scott made a distinction between the novel, in which (as he saw it) "events are accommodated to the ordinary train of human events and the modern state of society" and the romance, which he defined as "a fictitious narrative in prose or verse; the interest of which turns upon marvellous and uncommon incidents". However, many such romances, including the historical romances of Scott, Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights and Herman Melville's Moby-Dick, are also frequently called novels, and Scott describes romance as a "kindred term". This sort of romance is in turn different from the genre fiction love romance or romance novel
A short story is a piece of prose fiction that typically can be read in one sitting and focuses on a self-contained incident or series of linked incidents, with the intent of evoking a "single effect" or mood.

A dictionary definition is "an invented prose narrative shorter than a novel usually dealing with a few characters and aiming at unity of effect and often concentrating on the creation of mood rather than plot."

The short story is a crafted form in its own right. Short stories make use of plot, resonance, and other dynamic components as in a novel, but typically to a lesser degree. While the short story is largely distinct from the novel or novella (a shorter novel), authors generally draw from a common pool of literary techniques.

Bleachers    

The road to Rake Field ran beside the school, past the old band hall and the tennis courts,
through a tunnel of two perfect rows of red and yellow maples planted and paid for by the
boosters, then over a small hill to a lower area covered with enough asphalt for a
thousand cars. The road stopped in front of an immense gate of brick and wrought iron
that announced the presence of Rake Field, and beyond the gate was a chain-link fence
that encircled the hallowed ground. On Friday nights, the entire town of Messina waited
for the gate to open, then rushed to the bleachers where seats were claimed and nervous
pregame rituals were followed. The black, paved pasture around Rake Field would
overflow long before the opening kickoff, sending the out-of-town traffic into the dirt
roads and alleys and remote parking zones behind the school's cafeteria and its baseball
field.
Opposing fans had a rough time in Messina, but not nearly as rough as the opposing
teams.
Driving slowly along the road to Rake Field was Neely Crenshaw, slowly because he had
not been back in many years, slowly because when he saw the lights of the field the
memories came roaring back, as he knew they would. He rolled through the red and
yellow maples, bright in their autumn foliage. Their trunks had been a foot thick in
Neely's glory days, and now their branches touched above him and their leaves dropped
like snow and covered the road to Rake Field.
It was late in the afternoon, in October, and a soft wind from the north chilled the air.
He stopped his car near the gate and stared at the field. All movements were slow now,
all thoughts weighted heavily with sounds and images of another life. When he played
the field had no name; none was needed. Every person in Messina knew it simply as The
Field. "The boys are on The Field early this morning," they would say at the cafes
downtown. "What time are we cleaning up The Field?" they would ask at the Rotary Club.
"Rake says we need new visitors' bleachers at The Field," they would say at the boosters'
meeting. "Rake's got 'em on The Field late tonight," they would say at the beer joints
north of town.
No piece of ground in Messina was more revered than The Field. Not even the cemetery.
After Rake left they named it after him. Neely was gone by then, of course, long gone
with no plans to return.
Why he was returning now wasn't completely clear, but deep in his soul he'd always
known this day would come, the day somewhere out there in the future when he was
called back. He'd always known that Rake would eventually die, and of course there 
would be a funeral with hundreds of former players packed around the casket, all wearing
their Spartan green, all mourning the loss of a legend they loved and hated. But he'd told
himself many times that he would never return to The Field as long as Rake was alive. 

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