This short piece was written with the intention that every sentance was to have the same rythem. It was a play with words, similar to that of a poem except not quite. As usual I opted for the darker side of things. To write a piece entirely in this style would spell certain doom in the world of publishing, but it's a great little exercise, and brought the matter of flow and style to our attention. I hope that it does the same with your writing . . .
Exercise: Write a piece where every sentance shares the same rythem . . .
The water was cold, growing icier with its depth. My eyes were blinded, the murkiness darker than shadow. As it ran into my ears, hearing became almost a thing of the past. All I could hear was the pounding of my heart, its last few beats echoing within. I waited for death, for its sticky fingers to grip me. I had my reasons for suicide, still feeling its ripping pain. My happy memories flowed by, bringing a weak smile to my face. I would miss those times, it would be hard not to. It was just a shame that my life had been submerged, the shadow of despair drowning me. There was no way out now, only the path allowed by death. And as it came, I sighed with relief. Bliss . . .