One Paragraph Wonder (not)
It all started the year of 2027.
It was so dark, I felt almost physically imprisoned, despite the frosty autumn wind biting at my face hardly letting me forget I was outside. The night was illuminated only by the flickering lights of the party, like fireflies hovering in the dusk. The damp from the long grass seemed to seep everywhere, and it being October in Britain, the night was so desperately chilly my toes had gone utterly numb; I rubbed my hands together to try and tempt warmth.
It didn't work.
"The functional disenchantment, the sweet habit of each other, had begun to put lines around her mouth, lines that looked like quotation marks - as if everything she said had already been said before."
Last edited by TheRedSharpie; 06-11-2016 at 09:51 AM..