Experiments in Writing--The Very Long Sentence
Not sure how useful this one is, but I tried it: The very long sentence:
I wonder if it ends now, on an ice planet with no life now and only the slightest of feeble hints of life in times past, and those probably the product of my imagination, trying to dredge up hope where the crushed remnants of my spaceship should have ended that hope long ago, should have put me into the a mode of hopelessness, of trying to figure out a reason to prolong my time in the icy winds sweeping across featureless plains of ice, of white surface, white sky, white-filled air, a blanket of white surrounding me, smothering me, smothering hope, yet hope peeks out, grasps at straws, the straws of movement vaguely sensed through the white, perhaps imaginary, perhaps figments of my desperation, certainly not life; sensors would have detected that, but at best possibly the surviving artifacts of life, the machines of a vanished civilization, outliving their creators, survivors that could be sentient and helpful in the best case, or more likely indifferent or hostile in the more likely cases, the ones that would follow from the luck that brought me here, to this state, to this useless, frigid rock where I wait for salvation or its exposure as an illusion.
I wonder if it ends now, on an ice planet with no life now and only the slightest of feeble hints of life in times past, and those probably the product of my imagination, trying to dredge up hope where the crushed remnants of my spaceship should have ended that hope long ago, should have put me into the a mode of hopelessness, of trying to figure out a reason to prolong my time in the icy winds sweeping across featureless plains of ice, of white surface, white sky, white-filled air, a blanket of white surrounding me, smothering me, smothering hope, yet hope peeks out, grasps at straws, the straws of movement vaguely sensed through the white, perhaps imaginary, perhaps figments of my desperation, certainly not life; sensors would have detected that, but at best possibly the surviving artifacts of life, the machines of a vanished civilization, outliving their creators, survivors that could be sentient and helpful in the best case, or more likely indifferent or hostile in the more likely cases, the ones that would follow from the luck that brought me here, to this state, to this useless, frigid rock where I wait for salvation or its exposure as an illusion.