devoncamille
The wind rushed through her golden locks as she steadied herself along the branches. Her strong hands pulled her through the green brush. She smiled as she could smell the familiar smell of pine. It reminded her of memories spent in front of the fire place at her parent's house. They would sit in front and drink hot cocoa during the winters and light breezy candles. Her grip loosened a bit. She looked off into the horizon as the sun set. Reminiscing in old times.
The wind rushed through her golden locks as she steadied herself along the branches. Her strong hands pulled her through the green brush. She smiled as she could smell the familiar smell of pine. It reminded her of memories spent in front of the fire place at her parent's house. They would sit in front and drink hot cocoa during the winters and light breezy candles. Her grip loosened a bit.
Liz marched forward into the crowding bodies. Her small frame felt like a feather pillow being thrown around in a dryer. What she lacked in height, she made up in her loud voice. She screamed above others, making sure that people knew that this was a protest, and they were not going to give up until they got what they wanted.
I looked up through the trees, the glinting moonlight beaming over the wreckage. I stand, mostly from the adrenaline, and wipe off blood, shards of glass, and rip off chunks of skin. I look at my brand new Chevy truck, seeing the broken front windshield, and deployed airbags.
writing since 2015 · 5 entries · 3 days shown up
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smellcarbloodshardsglassseeingairbagsdeployedwindrushedgoldenlockssteadiedherselfalongbranches