A dull purplish hue covers the everlasting sky, as the moon rises from the ground like a dead body rising from a cold coffin. The tall boney tree is a skeleton, with long dark fingers reaching out to strangle me. A thick layer of fog creeps along the ground like a murderer, and hopeful blades of grass peer through it, trying not to drown. Trying to survive. The moon glares at me with its fiery amber glow, disappointment and anger dripping from it. Its the eye of a tiger, snarling at me, its prey, from its place in the sky.
Love this peice of writing babe. The short sentence, Trying to survive. Is an interesting choice. Why did you decid to use it at that point of the writing?
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