Almost
The place he died was a dirty, rotten, hovel. He took this as a personal affront. That the final smell he would ever experience in his existence would be that rancid odour. The last texture he would touch, the mouldy floor his face was pressed against. It made him so angry, it almost gave him the energy and coordination needed to escape. Almost.
6 comments:
I did like that, using no more words that you needed to get the atmosphere across.
Thank you :-) I'm trying to write >100 word stories at the mo, I figure it'll help me develop as a writer as I can occasionally lean toward long-windedness!
Nice little piece, Joleen. Liked it and as Lee said, no wasted words. Well done.
P.s. I'm intrigued as to how you've suddenly changed your blog and the post I commented on earlier isn't there....???
You can't see the post from earlier, David? That's weird...it should be just below this one, I haven't made any major changes today, just two posts...I can still see it anyway. Hmm. Weird!
Oh, and thanks! :-)
Ignore me! It's because you had two posts on the same day and they merged together and looked like the same post. Doh!! :-)
Aha, I see! Don't worry, it sounds like the kind of mistake I would make too. Sign of creative genius - your mind is clearly occupied by much higher things than such details, hehe! ;-)
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