![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mayoraaseiThe world is alien on an overcast night, when the faithful moonlight rails vainly to penetrate the unmoving clouds. Enshrouded in darkness so impervious that even the wind stayed its breath, the familiar scrabbling of night life had long been consumed by the silence that tolled sternly, prolonged and suffocating.
It was a world described only by touch and smell and taste; my existence confirmed by the restive flutter of the wind that on occasions carried with it the scent of ocean salt, and dreams of home.
The skies sometimes opened up, and the dust between my toes would turn to mud and squelch until baked dry by the sun that rose the next day. The rain would fall unheard, drowned out by intense flashes of lightning that came accompanied by the alarmed shuddering of the frail wooden hut that housed me.
The clouds would clear the next day, and the sun would rise over the horizon, welcomed by birds that would have begun their overture when the sky first brightened.
But for me, I lived in that silent, stifling midnight.
Just felt like practising a little writing. Away from Rowan's blander way with words.
My descriptive skills have seriously gone down the drain and is now floating somewhere in the Pacific waiting to be eaten by a starfish.
It's all Rowan's fault (...) that this story was started in the first place. I would have happily left it until I finished Next Assignment but I'm so sick of writing with Rowan's tone! It's so boring! And...boring!
Yes...there was a change of tense right at the beginning >__>;
Carmen, have I sent you verse 4 yet?
It was a world described only by touch and smell and taste; my existence confirmed by the restive flutter of the wind that on occasions carried with it the scent of ocean salt, and dreams of home.
The skies sometimes opened up, and the dust between my toes would turn to mud and squelch until baked dry by the sun that rose the next day. The rain would fall unheard, drowned out by intense flashes of lightning that came accompanied by the alarmed shuddering of the frail wooden hut that housed me.
The clouds would clear the next day, and the sun would rise over the horizon, welcomed by birds that would have begun their overture when the sky first brightened.
But for me, I lived in that silent, stifling midnight.
Just felt like practising a little writing. Away from Rowan's blander way with words.
My descriptive skills have seriously gone down the drain and is now floating somewhere in the Pacific waiting to be eaten by a starfish.
It's all Rowan's fault (...) that this story was started in the first place. I would have happily left it until I finished Next Assignment but I'm so sick of writing with Rowan's tone! It's so boring! And...boring!
Yes...there was a change of tense right at the beginning >__>;
Carmen, have I sent you verse 4 yet?
