I don’t understand why I’m here. This is all so strange. The
surface is hard when I should be feeling the softness and warmth of the forest floor.
I should be able to run free for miles
and miles without having to turn a corner once. Hang on what IS a corner? And what are those strange things staring at
me? In the forest, they would be dinner, but I have to be nice otherwise I won’t
get fed. My heart should be beating to the rhythm of the jungle but instead I
am here; bored, restless and held prisoner.
100Day eighteen; jump-on-board-for-blogflash2012-30-days-30-prompts-30-posts/ coutesey of Terri Giuliano Long. Pop along to her page The Art and Craft of Writing Creatively for wonderful tips and advice on writing and for reading the entries from wondeful writers.
