The trees are blowing in the wind, the grey clouds are covering the sky as I walk through the dark hollow woods, the birds swooped down and I fell the wind blowing in my face. I hear the flapping sound of the birds wings, I cover my face I fell the birds becks trying to peck at my face the sound fades. I slowly take my hands away from my face, I see my hands are red and bloody I slowly make my way back home from going tree to tree, slowly creeping in the woods there back again no.
I liked how your opening sentence set the scene and created a mood. It was also great to see your use of your senses. I wonder why your hands are red and bloody?
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