As the bright, tropic sun shone on my face, I thought about my previous adventures, not that they mattered anymore. My home had been destroyed years ago, but it seemed like just yesterday I was hunting mogtans for food. Why? Why did I have to be the one to lose my home, and everything else I held close? I clenched a conch shell in my hand, pressed it against my wounded heart, and wept. Sure, I knew it wouldn't help anything, but I felt good laying there. I just relaxed my muscles and dozed off, hoping it was all a dream…
I really like how you wrote this. By the way, what's a mogtan? I looked it up on Google but I still can't find what it is...
ReplyDeleteI really like the way you wrote this, but just wondering what a mogtan was...
ReplyDeleteThis piece is cool. I like how it was kind of sad. Did you make up a mogtan?
ReplyDeleteYes
ReplyDeleteThe piece was a very sad one. I liked that your made up some stuff along the way. I know I would be sad that I lost my house. It would be a good piece to carry on into a big piece of writing. Thats what me, Evan Shaun, and Jackson did. We made the chronicals of the pineapple blog. Its pretty awesome. Visit it please and maybe you could do one like it.
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