Sentence Length

Mr. Jones, of Manor Farm, was drunk. He locked up the hen-houses. Unfortunately, he forgot the pop-holes. His lantern lighting the way. Taking his boots off at the door. He grabbed another beer. Then, he went to bed. Mrs. Jones was already asleep.

He snapped off his big toe. The frostbite had gotten so bad that it was nothing but extra weight. Or wasted food. He thought about it. His captors had not fed him inside his freezing cell, and if he didn’t eat soon, he would die. His toe was still edible. It would probably make him sick, but it would keep him alive longer. He put his toe in his mouth. It was disgusting. Like a rock. It was then that he heard the bangs and shouts from above. The outpost he was held at was being raided. This was perfect. a man wearing a large coat and mask ran down the line of cells, breaking the locks and setting people free. When it was his turn, he got up, unsteady on his one working leg. He stumbled out. Climbing the stairs, he passed the raging battle. He lurched out the front door and into the snow. He didn’t get far. Smiling, he fell to the ground, unaware of the insanity that had been eating away at him for days. His last thought, his foot might keep him alive a bit longer.