Plan on writing a short story everyday for the next 2 months in an attempt to improve my writing so criticism is very welcome.
Thanks for reading
Journey of a dying man
He enters, pauses, listens, yet hears nothing; he hears no screams as he slices his naked feet on the serrated surface nor hears the voices from a passing fancy; he descends, deeper, into the darkness unloading the burden of his nostalgia; leaving behind what was once his; and slowly sinks into solemn; into numb.
He grips his rifle firmly fearing it may slip away, his arms shake; it has grown heavy, yet -- he glances at it with ardent eyes, as he always does, as if seeking comfort; this abject of solace, the last of his friends for which he to, feels resent. He staggers forward, exhausted he appeals for hospice against the toothed wall. He breathes heavily yet is extinguished by the overbearing silence, that terrible silence, unyielding as the passing day. He makes a fleeting glance over his shoulder grasping onto the last remnant of his humanity until finally; he lets go.
