Write a story set on this misty path.
Staring out on the misty morning, Jessica came over all Wuthering Heights.
“No”, she thought, involuntarily shaking her head to dislodge the very notion
“Catherine was such a cow, I’m much more the Jane Eyre type”
She nodded to herself in approval.
Stepping further out into the bleak landscape, the chill air penetrating her clothes and sending a shiver down her spine. She waited for the wind to p...
As I started on the misty path, I wondered where it’ll take me. It seems like all I can do is wish, but for what? I kept on walking as I thought of everything that I wish for.
And for a new beginning.
People back home would probably scold me if they found out that I don’t wish fo...
Only the Destined Ones could see the path, a windy trail made of pure vapor that stretched out for miles on end. Some never lived long enough to finish the long journey.
Others, the ones who had enough faith, managed to reach the end of the road no matter its length. No one knew what exactly was there, for no person who did reach the end was ever seen again. For some, the path was unnecessary, a ...
We had been walking for hours along this path. It never ended, the mountains were far away and out of view now. Now we thought we had found some help, or more accurately help found us. Dark clouds were gathering over a circle of stones. So we quickened our pace and ran to the stones. They were peculiar, with strange markings and engravings. There was a stone table in the middle with vines and thin...
The insistent pinching and tingling of my skin forced my body to jerk away from its painful stings. My eyes flung open, my body braced against a wet, narrow path.
Where am I? My warm bed, the gray walls of my room, my bookshelves…gone.
A marsh of dead grass spread out a mile around me. Through the mist I thought i caught a glimpse of the white church tower, like that of my home.
Had I slept wa...
Walking alone along the road, the mist surrounds me. It reaches out with a cool touch, as though it tells me to slow down and look around. I brush it off, though— I know what it’s trying to coerce me into doing and I won’t let it.
The path curves, yet nevertheless heads straight ahead. For better or for worse, I’m on this path careening dead ahead into the unknown misty forest. The overgrown pav...
He strolled along through the downpour. His dark, coffee colored hair became dreched and water rolled down his face moistening his eyelashes that surrounded his misty grey eyes. Droplets rolled off his nose and chin. At this point, his forest green sweater and his tan trousers were drenched. He didn’t care. He watched as people ran to escape the rain. He did not want to escape it, he walked furthe...
He only had 3 bullets left.
In retrospective he knew he had been too impatient, it was the same state of mind that got him in this mess.
The clouds hid the sun and a thick mist obscured the orison, the thin course of water stretched along yet more kilometers into the orizon, far more than the ground he had covered in his hours of searching.
He feared he had missed it, maybe in an area the water...
There is humidity in the air, as I breath slowly. I always used to like this misty in the morning. I am having this reminiscent thoughts while I walk back but back to where? Do I actually have a place to go back? I am not sure, and some kind of emptiness takes over me, hanging like a rock over my shoulders. Should the emptiness even weight something? The water drops in the grass around the path lo...
Throughout the farm there were many paths some through fields, forests, and mossy groves but none compared to the Willy trail. Off to the distance there were the woods and a small abandoned church. The land along the pathway wasn’t worthy for crops. The only thing that grew along the path where small orange bushes, the rest of the plants where dead and If not dead then dying. The Thomas boys once ...