The enervation of Hoard's Path
On the misty morning of September, yellow leaves fell as the water crippled the path of
the rocks that lay between the erratic waves that stung the water like a cacophonous bee.
The lake was surrounded by a huge park named Hoard's path. The first time I entered the
park a strong aversion came upon me. The mystery of the park held heavily on me and I
wondered about the caricature of the waves which puzzled me about the dependability of
the waves staying where they were and not blowing me into the lake like a dog that
was being pulled in because of the coercion of the waves. When I reached a consensus
with my friends about going there in a week we were all exited about exploring the place.
My friend knowing of this place warned we about the daunting stories he had heard abut
the place and that a kid died a few years ago. The body was never found. On Sunday we
headed down the prodigious slope of the Hoard's path. The fresh scent of the air gave me
a scrupulous outlook on what was to come ahead for us. As we traveled down the volatile
slope we felt that the slope was trying to usurp our power and bring us down to the floor.
We kept right through the tracks of the slope as the rain water came sprinkling down on
us. It was more difficult to reach there since the water made it much more difficult. At
about 2:00 PM we reached Hoard's path. As we reached the lake to refresh ourselves we
felt that someone was watching us. The uneasy levity of this situation from my friends
gave me a troubled look. The odd thing is that nothing happened that night. Actually we
went there every day to play and relax in the park and we even swam in the lake. I was
thinking how such a dark place could make me feel at home. I referred to it as a
capricious place always changing its mind as if
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