I woke up today, Friday, the first day of the first weekend since my Winter break ended. I’m not feeling like trying to find a topic and elaborating on it, so here’s a story I constructed for my English class.
The orc drudged his way up the bright mountain island as best he could, but found it not good enough. He sat on a freezing, orange, rock ledge, then laid down, then fell asleep.The orc had a dream – a dream about the mountain and the secrets the clouded summit held; but when he awoke he remembered no details but those. Yet he felt that the only dream that he ever had led to the mountain for a purpose. He cannot sleep now, for his dream will only become more persuasive. The orc stood up and continued hisdreadful hike.In the orc’s path was a massive roc, towering the orc several times over. Its feathers were of a golden hue, except for the tips of its tail and wing feathers, which were of a wonderful silver colour. Aware of the destruction this roc could wreak upon the orc, he made his way around this roc’s chick-full nest, careful to stay downwindof the roc.Thighs burning, lungs working, heart pumping, the orc used every drip of adrenalin he could find within himself to make it to the cloud that hides the tip of the mountain. Here it snowed from clouds higher. The air cooled his thighs and nearly froze his blood. Still, the dream condemned him to enter the cloud, and so the orc unsheathedhis construction hammer and beat on the cloud once, twice, thrice, and again, and again, a crack on the cloud forming and expanding. It took six swings of the hammer to make a hole. The orc peered inside and his dream came back to him, reminding himthat he had a great purpose, reassuring him that he did not have to follow the way of the orc.