Another one of my stories. I
will finish this.
Mark stood alone at the top of a barren cliff, peering around at the desolate wastelands. This was one of his few sanctuaries away from his dismal industrial surroundings. Mark was a slig. Your average day-to-day slig, only with a rarely found difference. He hated causing pain and misery, and he despised his peers around him. Their very existance made him feel solemn and miserable. Crying was impossible in his mask, but if it was gone, he could of cried an ocean. He dreamt of being free from the oppressive, accursed chains of the industrialists, to be free like the natives and the creatures of Oddworld. He didn't know how, or even when, but he was going to get out of his prison.
I usually lose ideas around the middle, but I have had this story in my tiny itty bitty brain for a while
. More soon.
My Sanctuary
