The resigned travelers rode on towards the horizon, pushed forward by their sail. The tracks remained constant, moving ever onward. The riders were subdued, and sat in a taciturn silence. They knew that the coming storm of events would bring them no accolade, no legacy, only derision and hatred. They were the antithesis of the perfect humans, and there were no sanctions made to save them. The government would let The Island rectify the blight the zealots had made with their heresy. They had no idea what they would find at The Island, only the ambiguous stories handed down from century to century. As their uneasy thoughts delineated their fates, the inmates shifted. To focus on positive things would be inane, only making their true minds more apparent. A collective sigh rose from the group, and the car trundled on into the mist.
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Random Writing Exercises
Historia CortaJust some random things I've written to practice, whether in class or on my own. Bivouac was just a word of the day idea, and The Ballad was just a random metaphor I used to explain something to one of my friends. The last four were timed, so they a...
