Style of John Steinbeck creative story

Length: 4 Pages 1042 Words

There was a beauty in the death of the cattle. A kind of frustrated satisfaction that is wrought from an uphill struggle finally over, despite ending the journey at the foot of the mountain. Gaunt bodies littered the fractured earth, creating a stillness in the air, a sense of a battle just over; a battle where each side had slaughtered all the warriors of the other. The shriveled mounds of stagnant meat were dissolving into the air, creating a rankness that completed the mood. Rib bones pointed defiantly at the sun, making a final stand against the cruelty of nature; shouting a silent message into the wind which carried the loud stench of all that is inevitable and frightening. The sky before dusk was filled with heat and light, an emptiness that promised nothing, yet held the fate of many. The heat robbed the earth of its life and stole the cool laughter of the creeks. The light exploded into raucous laughter at the ill fate of the living, and mocked the cows as they expelled a last pathetic grunt into the night. The cows closed their saddened eyes with an agony so intense that every soul filled creature felt a strange loss of dignity in their bones. And the great old trees wept until the morning. The bodies sign Continue...

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A bearded dragon was basking himself nearby. Time heals all wounds, even those of the heart, so when the heart of the land was torn apart and all breathing entities felt the pain of its injury, time stepped in and began to end the feuding. He sat himself upon a rock and silently endured the stifling heat. Ed's heart jumped and his fingers nervously rolled a cigarette in the light of the drowning sun. The sun did not force its way through Ed's bedroom window and demand that he wake. The very grains of dirt seemed to have declared war upon one another, lining up on their distinct sides, refusing to mix with the enemy, refusing to join as one. The sun obscured the view with shimmering mirages and Ed squinted to gaze hopefully at the horizon. The great old trees felt a song of dignity in the wind, and stopped weeping. Ed put on his akubra hat and walked out into the gale winds and blinding rain. The grass which had coloured the fields a wonderful green just a few short months earlier had surrendered to the sun's fury, and now decorated the red dirt with touches of brown. With a consenting moan from the towering gums, the first raindrops landed bravely upon the dirt, and turned into steam. The heat had fled, and in it's wake followed a carpet of black that rumbled its way across the sky. The light and the heat, even in the depths of the night, could feel themselves being opposed by force stronger then they could resist. Ed wet his lips and continued towards the dusty creek.