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When you walk around camp you can smell all the the food cooking, hear all the different languages and see what seems to be miles and miles of tents. The Manor House in front could be a school, a house, a hospital, you can't really tell. The air is damp and slightly cold to the touch and the tent you are sat in gives a sense of comfort, but you still want to go home; to pass the time you think about all the cultures and clashing personalities surrounding you.
The Norwegians to the left seem proud and courageous- with their large flag hanging between two trees (only god knows how they got it up there) and their noisy music, their late night camp fires and shouting. They could prove problematic if they continue. The Spanish to the right seem fun and playful- with their ukulele and group games that have spread around the camp like wildfire, their strong faces and laughing eyes. The welsh all around are hard to judge, you have had little to no interaction with them and they have remained mostly quiet, but they intrigue you.
The other members of your tent have just shown up but mostly talk between themselves, so instead you allow your eyes to wander around your surroundings; eyes glancing at the fallen gate before moving on, pausing to watch your camp members put up the flags, their childish actions reminding you of how much camp changes people. Before you get too lost in thought you hear a-
When you return back to camp later on in the day you are surprised to see that the majority of the camp in intact and everyone seems to be in a joyful mood. Perhaps your eyes and ears had betrayed you but you had heard the evacuation siren and seen the everyone try to run and escape. You had heard the roar and you had seen the teeth. You had heard the screams and seen the blood.
The giant head filled your vision as it swung towards you, it's large amber eye cold and calculating. It was the face of a ruthless killer. The low growl rolled out from between those dagger sharp teeth- the hot air blasting you in the face; carrying with it the scent of rotting flesh and metallic blood. The laughter of other camp goers rings in your ears as your life slowly fades away in the hands of the monster. The Spanish who you once thought were so kind look down on you in disgust, the Norwegians pity you for your lack of strength, the welsh flit throughout the shadows and ignore you altogether. Perhaps one day you would escape the nightmares that lurk behind every corner.
- 458 words I wrote this in my notebook while on guide camp and I hope you liked it. While typing this up on wattpad How To Train Your Dragon was playing and it's such a good film :). This one was written last week. (It has since been edited. The original was 372 words)
