Musty gray skies, Above still waters. The smell of the rain under heavy clouds, Whisper of muffled sounds, Comes with the wind on solid ground; Whistles through the trees, A gentle swishing melody of the leaves.
First Line Short Story – “The door was locked.”
The door was locked. Nathalie’s fragile body was no match for the solid metal. Each little grain that it was made of stared into her reddened eyes. Darkness seeped through the creases from the unknown world. She was fearful of the thought of what was on the other side. A tear escaped her watery eyes when she thought she had exhausted them all. Screams hurled from her mouth.
In life, we imagine ourselves at different points in our future—graduation, vacation, or even as merely eating one of our favorite desserts. For me, especially in these times, I love to envision myself on a beach where the water is almost still, and the soft waves reach against my toes in the sand.