Friday, 13 February 2015

Creative writing starters 8

He knew that they were wrong due to the unmistakable scent of smoke fuming from the peak of the island: that slightly sweet, slightly woody smell of warmth and dryness that only comes from a human burning wood that has been stored over the seasons.
Peter questioned whether he should continue to propel his small tinny forward, or whether he should abandon this mission. He loosened his grip on the throttle to slow the vessel and turned away from the island, back towards the navy's intimidating frigate. Even though the distance between himself and the ship was significant, at least half a mile, he could feel the eyes of his superiors burning through their binoculars, questioning his every move, his every decision. 

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