A Prison-like Orphanage
I trudge down the hall and tumble over. My shoulder throbs as I rub it vigorously. I stumble towards the kitchen and tremble. I spy a scrumptious brownie sitting on the silver top bench. My taste buds yearn for sweets. I thought I heard the matron smack her leather strap on her fat, sweaty palms, but how would I know in this state? I feel like I’ve risen from the dead. I can feel an icy fingernail tap lightly on my shoulder. I turn around abruptly. A blurry figure is fixed in front of my eyes. It is the matron.
Week 3Prompt: …but how would I know…
I love how you created a picture in my head! The intesity of this story is great! It makes me feel as if I was this person! I love the character you created and you made me feel as if I was in this story! Keep up the good work :0
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