Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project — published, submitted, in progress, for your cat — whatever. (Ganked from ysabetwordsmith)
This is from a novel I’m attempting to write, set in my Tir na Cali setting.
I woke up in a crate, seriously, a shipping crate. I was packed into some sort of foam padding, holding me so I could barely move. My head felt foggy, my mouth tasted cottony, and for a long horrible minute I had no idea where I was. I was stuck in a cocoon, that’s all I knew, the lid just a couple inches from my nose. I might have yelled, but I doubt anything heard me. The padding in that thing ate sound.
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