Every Moment
We Intertwined
Greta Salpeter pulled her coat tighter to her light gown. The rain got harder and pounded on her back like little bullets. Greta liked the rain, so that no one could see her cry. The smell of salt got nearer and nearer, a comfort. Lightning flashed, illuminating the seascape in front of her, fifteen miles away. She was running away.
A band of distorted trees proved for shelter from the awful storm. She crawled tiredly. She was barely outside of town and she forced her self to rest. On a small patch of grass she fell asleep for the night.
----------------
Greta awoke. She looked around. Groggily, she climed one of the demented-looking plants to get a survey of her surroundings. In the distance, she saw the lighthouse pointing directly at the sea. It was not that close, and the marshy landscape would make her travel harder.
Greta sighed, her gown dirty from the small feild she was in. She pulled out the small brush from her coat pocket and ran it carefully down her long, golden locks, regretting softly her latest decision in life. The soft grass cushioned her frail body, her pale skin and blonde hair reflecting in the cheerful sunlight despite the night before.
Greta was running away because her mother had just died, and she had no one left. Her father had been missing for five years, and she had given up on hoping he was alive. Her mother died of cancer, and if there was one thing Greta didn't want, was to spend her days in an orphanage. That's why she ran. A tear sprung. The wind blew softly as if it were comforting her.
The sea was her only guardian.
Greta looked up. On the branch above her was a single red apple, with the rest up above her possible grasp. She suddenly recognized this feild as an apple orchard. The branches were distorted from the sea breezes.
She reached up for the apple. A crow fluttered in front of her. It startled her, and she fell to the ground. Greta rubbed her sore head. Great She thought.
She tried for the apple again, and got it. She ate it hungrily. Afterwards, she gathered more and stuffed them in the pockets of her pea coat for later. Greta slipped on her shoes, and decided to head out.
A few yards out she came across a white stone path. She followed it. Well, it was better than walking in the reeds, and getting her feet cut even more from the sharp stems of the cattails.
Greta looked west. She wasn't even a mile, and she found a conflict. She had to go through a small town, and there was a huge circus tent. That meant people, and people meant the orphanage. Well, there wouldn't be an apple orchard in the middle of no where. Someone had to tend to it.
She sighed and went towards again. The white pebbles felt bumpy under thin soles. It was about two miles until she arrived at the town. There was no diversion. No other route. She'd have to swim the inlet, which was actually quite deep, and with her amount strengh that wasn't a smart idea.
Sullenly, Greta inconspicuously advanced forward, taking one last glance at the orchard.
-------------------------
One more mile.
A band of distorted trees proved for shelter from the awful storm. She crawled tiredly. She was barely outside of town and she forced her self to rest. On a small patch of grass she fell asleep for the night.
----------------
Greta awoke. She looked around. Groggily, she climed one of the demented-looking plants to get a survey of her surroundings. In the distance, she saw the lighthouse pointing directly at the sea. It was not that close, and the marshy landscape would make her travel harder.
Greta sighed, her gown dirty from the small feild she was in. She pulled out the small brush from her coat pocket and ran it carefully down her long, golden locks, regretting softly her latest decision in life. The soft grass cushioned her frail body, her pale skin and blonde hair reflecting in the cheerful sunlight despite the night before.
Greta was running away because her mother had just died, and she had no one left. Her father had been missing for five years, and she had given up on hoping he was alive. Her mother died of cancer, and if there was one thing Greta didn't want, was to spend her days in an orphanage. That's why she ran. A tear sprung. The wind blew softly as if it were comforting her.
The sea was her only guardian.
Greta looked up. On the branch above her was a single red apple, with the rest up above her possible grasp. She suddenly recognized this feild as an apple orchard. The branches were distorted from the sea breezes.
She reached up for the apple. A crow fluttered in front of her. It startled her, and she fell to the ground. Greta rubbed her sore head. Great She thought.
She tried for the apple again, and got it. She ate it hungrily. Afterwards, she gathered more and stuffed them in the pockets of her pea coat for later. Greta slipped on her shoes, and decided to head out.
A few yards out she came across a white stone path. She followed it. Well, it was better than walking in the reeds, and getting her feet cut even more from the sharp stems of the cattails.
Greta looked west. She wasn't even a mile, and she found a conflict. She had to go through a small town, and there was a huge circus tent. That meant people, and people meant the orphanage. Well, there wouldn't be an apple orchard in the middle of no where. Someone had to tend to it.
She sighed and went towards again. The white pebbles felt bumpy under thin soles. It was about two miles until she arrived at the town. There was no diversion. No other route. She'd have to swim the inlet, which was actually quite deep, and with her amount strengh that wasn't a smart idea.
Sullenly, Greta inconspicuously advanced forward, taking one last glance at the orchard.
-------------------------
One more mile.