The Art of Life

Sorry guys, I keep not doing it and forgetting ;-; But Hey! This is the next story! I'm just gonna back up a bit, this story has a story in and of itself. (Okay, I might've  had to do it for school. Mum asked me to write my own myth and or folktale, so this is what I wrote .D.) And now that that's done, here's the story! .D. My own folktale; The Miners Once upon a time, there was a group of Miners. They were very good friends, and they always had a good time, which made other miners envious. After a hard day’s work, they liked to sit in a Pub. This is where our story finds them. Do you see them there? The Five friends. They look quite Barbaric, but I can assure you that they are not. The one with the heavily smashed glasses that are, somehow, staying on his face, is the reader of the group. He knows more than the others, and educates them, much to their annoyance. So, there you have it. They are not Barbarians after all. And yet. This story is about to prove

I am so sorry. I have not posted on here in a couple of weeks (even though I said I would) Because I honestly forgot. I'm really sorry. But! To make up for it, I'ma gonna give you the next story - see if you can find out which one it's sequel to ;) I ached everywhere. A ringing filled my ears. I heard muffled voices. One of which I recognised. Jake…? I opened my eyes as much as I could. It took a lot of effort. I smiled. Jake always managed to find me, and rescue me from trouble. I closed my eyes and relaxed. The memory of what had happened flowed back to me; “Welcome home, Tori.” The man had said. I gasped. “Surprised? I wouldn’t be. You know why I’m here.” “I’m not going with you,” I growled. “I made that mistake before.” “Ah, but you see here, Tori.” He took a small thing out of his backpack. It was a little black box with a button. My eyes widened when I saw it. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and opened them again. There were the numbers.