You are walking home alone when you notice signs of storm gathering around you.
Describe what happens and how you feel as you make your journey to shelter.
Black ominous clouds blanketed the naked sky, with a cluster of roaring eyes crawling in the open vastness. Deafening gusts of wind swept across the grassy plains; the dense, mossy foliage writhed in the murky darkness.
The wind lashed upon the skeletal palm trees in the distance, ripping off its fragile branches in profound lividness. The fearsome gale rummaged through the moor for its next victims. The torrential wind pounced upon my consciousness as I struggled to keep myself from falling. Thunder roared more intensely and I could feel the storm ready to pour at any moment. I could see the house clearly now; the smashed windows, splintered wooden doors, and a sea of wilting Hydrangea all over the lawn.
The house towered like a dormant volcano amidst the wilderness, surrounded by an aura of misty malevolence. As I slowly walked further, clouds of anxiety floated in my mind. Beads of perspiration were spouting on my forehead. I felt as though my paranoia had grown its claws and was clenching my mind.
The rusty, iron gate creaked loudly as I pushed it open. Rotten planks of wood lay upon the threshold like a corpse, shrouded by layers of soot and mud. Meanwhile, rain throbbed against the thatched roof and the echoing sound of water dripping broke the suffocating silence.
The ceiling was as dark as slate. A bulb tied to a grey rope hung from the ceiling, swaying sideways like a pendulum, fighting against the gushes of wind. The floorboards snapped from the pressure of my Wellington boots. I noticed a small coffee table sitting mirthlessly in a corner. Its surfaces were encrusted in mould and dried up leaves.
I could hear the barren, orphaned stretches of the moor yelping in utter desperation. The iron gate clanked against the pillars, which stood firmly like sentinels summoning their strength to fight back.
I wondered to myself; was I now trapped?