Lessy groaned under the weight of the large , awkward canvas sack she carried. Just lifting it off the ground nearly destroyed her legs and now, as she climbed the little hill that led her back to her camp, she could feel her knees weaken and her will to drop it increase. She could not afford to lose even one of the apples within, having foraged all night for them. Reaching the top of the hill a narrow scrap of a train cut off to her left. There were cars, abandoned, some nothing more then burned out shells blocking a path in front of her and a lake of what looked like pitch or reddish black water infested with death.
“Hmm.” She murmered to herself. “Think I’ll take the trail.”
Lifting the sack a bit higher Lessy, nothing more then four feet eleven shuffled down a much welcomed slope. Soon enough she would be at the camp, passing out her bounty and taking orders for more.
Matthew Newton
DOC #81868
Good thought, and follow through. I love stories and the art of telling them. I will seek out the preceding parts to see where it derives from, develops to, and may expectantly go.
Sometimes when we get to typing, our brain speaks faster than our fingers can place it down. Which is a good reason to write everything first, so we reread it several times before making our publication. It also helps to keep the thought complete and congruent, while finding spelling errors or poor grammar, which we then can substitute a better word. Best to you, and I’ll be reading.