James ran through the dusty gravel road, panting as he shifted his weight to turn a corner. Looking up, he saw a mixture of cerulean and cloud, and he could only think of the excellent day ahead. His feet skidded to a stop as he glimpsed a slightly faded, crimson, vandalized gate among other debris. Among the debris, he found a golden wine cup, embedded with nine lilac jewels. Inside, however, it was slightly faded, and had signs of tampering; it had a small number of scrapes that could only be done by an individual.
Intrigued, James grasped the mysterious goblet and held it to his face, now jogging along the pathway. The golden cup looked worn out, like it had been used by many people, for many centuries. There was a white flash of light, and unexpectedly, James fell heavily on his side, stumbling over a pothole. James grunted, wounded. His denim jeans, now filled with holes, were creased and lined with sand. Drops of tears emerged from his eyes, into the winegoblet, repetitively, and nine teardrops fell in.
He glanced at the cup which had been the source of his fate. Looking more closely, he noticed a grey, mesmerizing, swirling pattern of water in the base of the cup. He seemed to make out faint words on the surface of the water, bobbing. It had suddenly widened, engulfing James into nothingness.
James plunged down for nowhere, landing heavily on his back. He seemed to be in some type of cell, bare and cold. He stood up, bewildered, and started massaging the tender region where his back hurt. He noticed the bejeweled cup at his side, with its silver lining and smooth edges. It had the same scratch marks, the same worn out golden paint in the base of the cup. Within the goblet was a gray dagger. He reached over and picked up the hypnotizing ornament with its content.
“Think you could escape, James? Well you’re wrong. Nobody escapes. Nobody!”
James scanned around the room, crazed, searching for the source of the voice .
“Why?”
“You’re mind, James. You can’t escape from your mind! You may leave this world physically, but you’ll never leave it psychologically!”
James’ pupils dilated, demented.
“No, no, never.” James was now punching the air blindly. He took the cup and threw it against the wall on his left. The cup didn’t so much as dent.
He came to a sudden realisation as he played back the scene with the voice; he could escape. He shut his eyes, and snorted to hold back tears, grasped the knife double-handedly, and stuck it into his stomach. He fell to the ground, gasping. It was the only escape. A tear emerged. Tears of deception, crocodile tears. He walked along the walls, his hands on them for support. He collapsed. The goblet shook, and as James’ eyes closed, the cup added one purple jewel to the nine others.
I would like any criticism.
Intrigued, James grasped the mysterious goblet and held it to his face, now jogging along the pathway. The golden cup looked worn out, like it had been used by many people, for many centuries. There was a white flash of light, and unexpectedly, James fell heavily on his side, stumbling over a pothole. James grunted, wounded. His denim jeans, now filled with holes, were creased and lined with sand. Drops of tears emerged from his eyes, into the winegoblet, repetitively, and nine teardrops fell in.
He glanced at the cup which had been the source of his fate. Looking more closely, he noticed a grey, mesmerizing, swirling pattern of water in the base of the cup. He seemed to make out faint words on the surface of the water, bobbing. It had suddenly widened, engulfing James into nothingness.
James plunged down for nowhere, landing heavily on his back. He seemed to be in some type of cell, bare and cold. He stood up, bewildered, and started massaging the tender region where his back hurt. He noticed the bejeweled cup at his side, with its silver lining and smooth edges. It had the same scratch marks, the same worn out golden paint in the base of the cup. Within the goblet was a gray dagger. He reached over and picked up the hypnotizing ornament with its content.
“Think you could escape, James? Well you’re wrong. Nobody escapes. Nobody!”
James scanned around the room, crazed, searching for the source of the voice .
“Why?”
“You’re mind, James. You can’t escape from your mind! You may leave this world physically, but you’ll never leave it psychologically!”
James’ pupils dilated, demented.
“No, no, never.” James was now punching the air blindly. He took the cup and threw it against the wall on his left. The cup didn’t so much as dent.
He came to a sudden realisation as he played back the scene with the voice; he could escape. He shut his eyes, and snorted to hold back tears, grasped the knife double-handedly, and stuck it into his stomach. He fell to the ground, gasping. It was the only escape. A tear emerged. Tears of deception, crocodile tears. He walked along the walls, his hands on them for support. He collapsed. The goblet shook, and as James’ eyes closed, the cup added one purple jewel to the nine others.
I would like any criticism.