manuscriptx
New Member
There were plenty of excuses but no reasons, there were plenty of feet on the ground but no leadership. I had to say something; when the voices lay bare a calming influence bellowed out a loud eerie voice. Endearing with confidence, a subtle inference could give me pleasure or turn right around and invent distinctive perditions. A motive for the second season came in twenty integers; night became day and the valley which was once washed in sweet lullabies became boring and dry, ashes were stale leafy fragile cinders of dust clinging onto whatever swayed about. Third was a woman scratching her arm; you can see the ripples on her skin, tiny little jackhammers, breaking them up into a mush of rubble. Next was the playground, it was an attractive sight for sore eyes redacting attention away from of all kinds.
This little nightmare of ours once thought to promote a promising fancy.
We don't see many opportunities come around here and whenever they do, you can safely bet they won't be overjoyed. To know is ponderous, to expect is so much more. To learn is endearing, to master is something else. To end with a fate of breath is to write like the dastardly little deed that I am.
This little nightmare of ours once thought to promote a promising fancy.
We don't see many opportunities come around here and whenever they do, you can safely bet they won't be overjoyed. To know is ponderous, to expect is so much more. To learn is endearing, to master is something else. To end with a fate of breath is to write like the dastardly little deed that I am.