This is a short story entitled " Parzivel tries to make friends in vr game" This is a story about torn ghosts.
The sun beat down Jonathan’s back, not stopping even after all of his pleas. He felt a sharp sting in the back of his neck and slapped it instinctively, as soon as he did the humming in his ear stopped. The flies had been biting him since sundown. As he looked around he began to cry. All that was around him was dead. The dirt was hard and cracked, and there wasn’t the faintest hint of green across the horizon. Cursing himself he began to work again. Hitting his hoe into the hard dirt where not even the horses left tracks, dust rolling across the barren land. When he could take it no longer he started the slow walk up the valley. In front of him he saw his house, a small shack with windows coated by dust, and steps covered by dirt and bugs. The walls were as old as the desert around them, made by his great grandpa. The beams of the building had long been needing a replacement, but with the hard job of running the farm the house had fallen into disrepair, sagging like a weary man’s head.
He stepped past the wooden rocking chair by the kitchen. Long ago his mom had sat there knitting, but no longer. She fell sick two years ago and passed, but Jonathan can still see the chair rocking, his ma humming. A mouse jumped out from behind the cupboard, but he was not startled. His house was like a zoo, bustling with animals. When he reached the attic he fed the squirrels what scraps he had. With nobody within miles, and desert spanning even longer than that, Jonathan didn’t expect any company. That was fine by him. He peered through the window, so old and grimy you have to squint to see out of them, and thought he saw a hooded figure. No, he said to himself. It must have been the dust playing tricks on him, or the sun; making him too tired to see straight.
I hope you enjoyed this thrilling literary piece by yours truly,
This is a short story entitled " Parzivel tries to make friends in vr game" This is a story about torn ghosts.
The sun beat down Jonathan’s back, not stopping even after all of his pleas. He felt a sharp sting in the back of his neck and slapped it instinctively, as soon as he did the humming in his ear stopped. The flies had been biting him since sundown. As he looked around he began to cry. All that was around him was dead. The dirt was hard and cracked, and there wasn’t the faintest hint of green across the horizon. Cursing himself he began to work again. Hitting his hoe into the hard dirt where not even the horses left tracks, dust rolling across the barren land. When he could take it no longer he started the slow walk up the valley. In front of him he saw his house, a small shack with windows coated by dust, and steps covered by dirt and bugs. The walls were as old as the desert around them, made by his great grandpa. The beams of the building had long been needing a replacement, but with the hard job of running the farm the house had fallen into disrepair, sagging like a weary man’s head.
He stepped past the wooden rocking chair by the kitchen. Long ago his mom had sat there knitting, but no longer. She fell sick two years ago and passed, but Jonathan can still see the chair rocking, his ma humming. A mouse jumped out from behind the cupboard, but he was not startled. His house was like a zoo, bustling with animals. When he reached the attic he fed the squirrels what scraps he had. With nobody within miles, and desert spanning even longer than that, Jonathan didn’t expect any company. That was fine by him. He peered through the window, so old and grimy you have to squint to see out of them, and thought he saw a hooded figure. No, he said to himself. It must have been the dust playing tricks on him, or the sun; making him too tired to see straight.
I hope you enjoyed this thrilling literary piece by yours truly,