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igenlodeMore rewrites, since I wasted a lot of time doing them...
He stared gloomily at the full moon shining in through the window. The drizzle outside pattered against the pane, but the muffled sound was not enough to distract his thoughts. Mew's warnings were echoing through the clamour of his mind.
The shock of the discovery was still hammering through him, leaving him shaking and somehow sick. How long had this been going on? The grass was damp beneath his feet, but the imagined idea of Belinda's infidelity -- graphic, vivid pictures he would have given anything to be able to suppress -- would not let him stay still. He walked restlessly, trying to escape his own thoughts. One hand reached automatically into his pocket and felt for a packet of cigarettes, but his fingers were trembling too much to open it.
Not sure where this gets me, other than showing off that I can write better than really bad writing...
He gloomily stared at the full moon glistening through his diaphanous window. Silent platter of the slim drizzle outside tried to derail his thoughts, but only succeeded in undulated muffles as those tiny trickles struck his window pane. His vision smudged and paved way for profound ruminations to take over. The warnings made by Mew oscillated in his clamored brain.
He stared gloomily at the full moon shining in through the window. The drizzle outside pattered against the pane, but the muffled sound was not enough to distract his thoughts. Mew's warnings were echoing through the clamour of his mind.
He trotted on the moist lawn, the grass blades crunching beneath his bare soles. His heart thumped at the news of his wife's infidelity. He reached into his pocket and fished out a pack of cigarettes, but his hands lacked the finesse to open it.
The shock of the discovery was still hammering through him, leaving him shaking and somehow sick. How long had this been going on? The grass was damp beneath his feet, but the imagined idea of Belinda's infidelity -- graphic, vivid pictures he would have given anything to be able to suppress -- would not let him stay still. He walked restlessly, trying to escape his own thoughts. One hand reached automatically into his pocket and felt for a packet of cigarettes, but his fingers were trembling too much to open it.
Not sure where this gets me, other than showing off that I can write better than really bad writing...
