This challenge was set by First 50 to write the first fifty words about “the fence”. I got a bit carried away. Here’s my effort:
It wasn’t particularly high, and in some places looked decidedly suspect in terms of its original integrity. It was though a boundary, a symbol of where sanctuary began and ended. Anyone caught on the wrong side of the fence was deemed a deserter, an abandoned soul to be left to the evil corruption of the world beyond.
I’d often look beyond the fence, beyond the well manicured lawns and regularly pruned shrubs and wonder…….was the spontaneity and haphazard chaos really that bad. Could it be worse than the endless rut of monotony within.