Show not Tell

By Anonymous -
Fingers flaking, the searing lips of the sun lean over, brushing, scorching. Brown. Brown like the bark of the willow. It's crumbling skin tumbling to the earth. Tongues arching, bending, gently caressing the landscape. A steady stream flowing, banks bursting, engulfing, threading it's way through the maze of grain. Rippling. They shuffle, one foot after the other, imprisoned by the chains of their suffering.


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