Emulation Practice: Macro Cricket
#3 of Writing Exercises
I'm trying to practice using other authors' styles, in this case, William Faulkner's.
And the sun burned deep amber patches around his face, and patches of beard hair singed from the heat. All along the trail he shambled, wild animals listened to his vengeful plans, and Argo acted out his stab-desires onto cacti, and he crushed underfoot any animal who was too slow to run away. When he was too thirsty to chase down a scorpion, he dumped out his ballast. There among the petty trash were enchanted pebbles; he knew them for their enchantment on account of them tumbling over a cricket. Instead of splattering, it engorged and grew and unfolded into a bigger and horse-like creature, and it was large enough that Argot could mount it. He knew what he had to do next. He didn't forgive, and he was ready to sabotage the bastille.