My name is Ella, my game is... writing! I love to write about nature, and I always aim to create a real mood in my writing, whether it be that warm fuzzy feeling, or a tense, and foreboding one :)
Please let me know what could be improved, not so much about the story, but about the word choice/grammar, I hope you enjoy!
Written By: Ella Hambleton
February 13, 2015
A day as hot as the Sahara, and as dry as the arctic drifted sluggishly by. The sun smoldered high in a cloudless blue sky. Through greying branches, barren of leaves, a house could be seen with faded boards and cobwebs in the doorways. Alone in a dead forest the long abandoned dwelling stood, creaking and broken, its foundations were strong. Lightbulbs hung, long shattered and useless, above rooms full of tins and rotting fruit. Daffodils grew through empty doorways, birds made their messy nests in the rafters. A path was hewn through the yellow blanket, flattened flowers, crushed petals. A single doorway was free of cobwebs, the dusty old homes removed from their abandoned posts. Dust swirled and settled, leaving clear prints on the rotting floorboards. Curled innocently on top of her ripped sheets a girl lay. Broken wind howled through cracks in the window pane, curtains of torn cloth fluttering, barely existent against the walls. A sticky residue covered every one of the room’s surfaces, the girl still lay, unmoving, a teddy bear clutched dreamily in her tiny hands. Beside her, a misshapen desk, littered with colorless pencils and dried ink. Scrunched up paper, more flecks, than sheets, rested lightly in a wooden box, an improvised bin, of sorts. The flick of flint on steel, the swoosh of flames, catching on oil-soaked timber. Bones crackled, fur sizzled, paper popped a flashed, ink bubbled and melted over a child’s desk. Dry bones became dryer, black blood boiled. Skin that had not been worn for time uncounted was burning a hot red. In the midst of orange heat, a child’s hand clutched her teddy bear.