Post by A.melia B.lanc on Jan 3, 2007 22:57:52 GMT -5
This is a sequal to a novel I wrote. It is very short, but I am working on it. Do not hesitate to give me some helpful pointers! 
My legs shivered. My arms ached. I was exhausted. A car rolled by and I tried to wave it down, but it kept on driving. My hair and cloths were soaked through and my sneakers were turning to ice. It was getting darker and darker as the sun sunk far below the hills. I spotted a tree not but 100 yards away, and tried to settled down in the driest spot under the small oak. I took off my soaking pack and lay out a miraculously dry blanket. I also took out some of the food I brought from the foster care kitchen. The apples and the peaches were fine, but the sandwich and the potatoes were soggy. The water I brought, though, was fresh. I gulp down the last of the water and ate one apple. A siren wailed in the distance and I huddled closer to the cover of the tree. A cop car zoomed past. I am not saying that I am a criminal. It is just that I ran away. How wrong is that? I have no family anyway. I crawled deeper and deeper into the shadow of the tree, hoping no one had seen me, let alone recognize me. I pulled my torn sweater tight around Sorrel, my tortoiseshell kitten. She mewed in protest, and her mouth hung open, waiting for food. I frantically searched my pack for the cat food I had brought, but I couldn't find it. I tore the meat out of the soggy sandwich and tried to feed her. To my relief, she ate it. I laid her down next to me and wrapped her in a small, thankfully dry, washcloth. I huddled myself under a thin blanket beside her, and slept a very fitful sleep.
Sun streamed through the tree branches of the little oak that I was sleeping under. Sorrel stretched her tired body and I fed her some more meat. I ate a peach out of my pack and looked around. I looked to my right. “Well, there is the not so helpful highway.” I said to myself. I looked to my left, and green fields opened up, calling my name. I slowly packed everything up, and picked up Sorrel. "Traveling over the horizon?" I said, pressing my nose against Sorrels fur. She smelled so familiar, so sweet. She mewed, clawing at my pack for food. "I just gave you some!" I said, but worry raced through my mind. Sorrel was thinner than she had ever been, and rapid episodes of couching usually occupied most of her time. The cold was getting to her, I could feel it. As I cradled her, she shivered and coughed her weak, small kitten cough. I tried bundling her up more in my sweater, but too many rips and tears were lodged in it. The blanket she had slept under got rained on overnight as well. I felt hopeless and felt like sobbing. But I had learned better; crying made you vulnerable, and she wouldn't be vulnerable. Not today, not ever.
My legs shivered. My arms ached. I was exhausted. A car rolled by and I tried to wave it down, but it kept on driving. My hair and cloths were soaked through and my sneakers were turning to ice. It was getting darker and darker as the sun sunk far below the hills. I spotted a tree not but 100 yards away, and tried to settled down in the driest spot under the small oak. I took off my soaking pack and lay out a miraculously dry blanket. I also took out some of the food I brought from the foster care kitchen. The apples and the peaches were fine, but the sandwich and the potatoes were soggy. The water I brought, though, was fresh. I gulp down the last of the water and ate one apple. A siren wailed in the distance and I huddled closer to the cover of the tree. A cop car zoomed past. I am not saying that I am a criminal. It is just that I ran away. How wrong is that? I have no family anyway. I crawled deeper and deeper into the shadow of the tree, hoping no one had seen me, let alone recognize me. I pulled my torn sweater tight around Sorrel, my tortoiseshell kitten. She mewed in protest, and her mouth hung open, waiting for food. I frantically searched my pack for the cat food I had brought, but I couldn't find it. I tore the meat out of the soggy sandwich and tried to feed her. To my relief, she ate it. I laid her down next to me and wrapped her in a small, thankfully dry, washcloth. I huddled myself under a thin blanket beside her, and slept a very fitful sleep.
Sun streamed through the tree branches of the little oak that I was sleeping under. Sorrel stretched her tired body and I fed her some more meat. I ate a peach out of my pack and looked around. I looked to my right. “Well, there is the not so helpful highway.” I said to myself. I looked to my left, and green fields opened up, calling my name. I slowly packed everything up, and picked up Sorrel. "Traveling over the horizon?" I said, pressing my nose against Sorrels fur. She smelled so familiar, so sweet. She mewed, clawing at my pack for food. "I just gave you some!" I said, but worry raced through my mind. Sorrel was thinner than she had ever been, and rapid episodes of couching usually occupied most of her time. The cold was getting to her, I could feel it. As I cradled her, she shivered and coughed her weak, small kitten cough. I tried bundling her up more in my sweater, but too many rips and tears were lodged in it. The blanket she had slept under got rained on overnight as well. I felt hopeless and felt like sobbing. But I had learned better; crying made you vulnerable, and she wouldn't be vulnerable. Not today, not ever.
