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The Shop Past the perennial greens, Mark’s luminous pastures and the flying pebble’s path. Lucy and me ran, ran away from the austere, patronizing words from our uncle. We’d had enough. Ever since mamma and papa died uncle had been in charge, he’d inherited the farm and us. Every bit of criticism he flung at us about mamma and papa filled us up. We kept it all bottled up but now we’d had enough we were leaving forever. Panting breathlessly we ran with our rack-sacks bobbing loosely along. The beautiful sun shone bright, dashing the most magnificent sun light perfectly on the untouched sea. The sea gently sang a song made from elaborate waves. The prolific crabs were feeding and the minority birds were feeding on them, peacefully and quietly. Our feet felt good in the cool water a huge difference from the scorching sand.
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