Shivering. Teeth chattering. Breath steaming in the cold night air. In the distance a sharp whistle answered by two barks and barely audible voices. Pinpricks of light dance through bare branches. Losing his nerve, Lonny tumbles out from his hiding place and sets off through the forest, his thin clothes and brittle skin snagging on brambles. Another whistle, this time closer and to his right. He veers left, his foot catching on a root, and tumbles into wet leaves. Cursing he rises and hobbles on, knowing that he should have never had stopped; that the game will soon be up.
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words
1 comment:
Rob - Oh, you've really captured the desperation there! Strong sense of setting, too.
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