%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| >> Static Item >> Novella >> Death >> ID #1330368 |   |
| |||||||||||||
|
Michael stared visiously to the horizon with a look of bitter disgust on his face. He knew, in the camp atop the adjacent hill, his foe plotted and planned his demise.
A demise that will never come. Michael hissed to the wind, and seemingly to God himself.
© Copyright 2007 GuitarHeroine20 (UN: guitarriff20 at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
GuitarHeroine20 has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
 Log In To Leave Feedback |
Static Items
Books
Forums
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
