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Essay On The Story Of A Story

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Linda gingerly rolled onto her left side, taking all the strength and the will of her body not to fade back into unconsciousness, as she had been doing for the past few hours. Struggling, feeling each and every muscle in her fragile body moving like an unoiled and rusted machine, Linda winced with pain as she turned over. She was able to catch a glimpse of herself in the shattered personal mirror that now rested between her and her bag. The blood, which had once flowed through her scarlet veins, was now clinging to her face and body. Smearing her lips like poorly applied lipstick and covering her severely lacerated hands. The glow of the rising sun highlighted the wet mud glazed over Linda’s torn, long-sleeve, mulberry shirt. Vigilantly…show more content…
Linda woke to the gentle caress of the savage, gentle for their standards at least. The sun now in the middle of the sky blinded her, causing the savages to appear only as obscure silhouettes. Embracing any person’s aid, she groaned the word, “Help”, small amounts of congealed blood and saliva sputtering out of her mouth. The being responded in rushed sentences and trivial words, akin to how a Gamma may speak. Linda began to piece together who she may be speaking to, as the being picked her up and she felt the distinct feeling of animal fur on her back she began wailing comparably to a banshee. She was in the bulky, calloused hands of a savage. Being carried out of the cavern via a narrow, winding pathway and into the light aroused flashbacks of her storm stricken journey. It was that inexorable thunderstorm that caused her to slide down the side of the mountain, moving too quickly down the steep hill for anyone to help. Linda remembered soaring off the edge of the precipice and then diving into nihility, into the ill-lit cavern. She snapped back into reality, still in the hardened hands of the savage, his untamed fingernails digging into her back. Linda’s eyes had adjusted to the severity of the afternoon sun, letting her make out the shacks of a savage village. The sun reflecting of the tin rooves, the dead trampled grass outlining pathways between each hovel.
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