Descriptive writing..

Its dark, I can hear something dripping, water from the tap? maybe. I would’ve thought it had all evaporated by now. There’s been no rain for weeks maybe even months now. Yeah I’m right, no water I must be hearing things the tap feels warm, that’s not normal around here nothing about this weather is normal for this village.
Even when the night comes by it still feels like the sun is in the sky-it may look beautiful but it is there every minute of every day, taunting us, pushing us to our limits. No water, no moisture on the ground, everywhere is dry. People from elsewhere may think we’re lucky to have this amazingly scorching weather, a dream come true to have the sun sizzling onto our pale skin to add some colour instead of staying pale in the wet, cold weather we are used to at this time of year. But to us it’s hell on Earth, our little village has been in a droit for so long I’ve stopped bothering to count or keep track of the days, my hope and faith broke away a long time ago well at least it feels like a long time ago. The sun is taking us away, one by one, we’re like flies that are attracted to light bulbs, each one dying as it touches the object we use for electricity-light, electrocuting itself. We should of actually have seen this coming, we invented the light bulb over the years so many flies have died because of the light bulb well now we are the flies and the sun is the light bulb, but why would God want to destroy his creation? Is this our purpose? Who knows.
We’re so isolated out here, hundreds of miles away from the nearest village let alone we can’t drive there seeing as the fuel has evaporated along with the water, we can’t walk there because we would die of thirst and we have already ran out of Cola and other Pop drinks.
Even a cactus can’t survive without feeding on water from the soil but I can tell you one thing about cactuses they are bloody amazing to look at, the green of the waxy leaves the kind of green you would see on a freshly picked juicy green apple-my mouth is watering at just HOLDING a fresh green apple, tasting it would be a miracle. The pricks you get when you touch the cacti’s spines like little sewing needles pricking you ever so gently. I don’t have a bloody clue how cactuses survive in the desert, when I’m going stir-crazy in a droit…

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