Thing for enlgish class (Forgot my flash drive some im posting it on here)

[Shini]

There was an eerie breeze of wind which would flow by on occasion. Gravel and pebbles would fall off their sides onto the dirt road, making it rough to walk on. A broken wooden fence leaned over, almost hunching towards the road as if it were to fall. Brown, rusty crab grass lay beside, swaying with the blowing wind.

The sky was gray, as it had always been. Rain clouds were always out in this land. For the unlucky few who have taken a daring walk into this pass, they would tell you in details of how plain it really was. Strange as that sounds though, it makes sense entirely. The feeling which erupts from the men who have taken the walk, it is like none other. Some have said that they required themselves to be reminded they were alive at times. Their body’s had no color as well, as they were cloaked by the sky. All they saw was black and white. There was no life there, no emotion, just the unrealistic plainness which covered all things under its own hand.

Quite as they may be, the steps of a man could be heard. Dirt and gravel rolled beneath his rough and calloused feet. Some of the skin had already begun to peel off during his travels. Dirt rested in the small cuts covering his toes. The pain didn’t bother him, or well, it did not seem to as his expression stayed blank underneath the black hood of his haggard, tore up robe.

His head stayed motionless as he stared, gazing into the horizon. With yet his eyes not changing their course, he kept his vision on the same constant place. The same sight was always in his view while the road never changed. It stayed plain, without a hint of emotion continuing to be lifeless to his lonely eyes.

Hours would pass, still, the man’s now fragile legs continued to move. His steps were slow and uneven. Each step was a greater chance for him to collapse onto his hated land. An overwhelming need to sleep was being to emerge. Every second made his eyes lids just that much heavier, like bags of dead bodies being carried to the morgue. Tears began to form, causing his eyes to look glassy. He now forced himself not to blink in fear of falling into slumber.

A power quench of thirst was overpowering him. Hours ago had his last container of water had run out, now keeping his mouth dry as the concrete in a man’s prison cell. Blood trailed down from his mouth. His tongue has begun to bleed after the constant times of having to tear it off the roof of his mouth.