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My Campsite

             The singing of a bird had awoken me, the high-pitched tune obviously breaking my deep sleep and bringing my body back to its usual senses. The feeling of immense warmth inside my sleeping bag was brilliant and gave me the urge to just turn over and resume my dormancy, but I didn't. The sides of the tent were dampened and I could see one patch in the far left corner where rain from the previous night had leaked in, but that was to be expected when camping, as the tent was an old one made from the traditional canvas used in scouting.
             One thing that I had noticed since my waking was that I was unaccompanied under the canvas, both my friends: Paul and Simon were missing, not even their sleeping bags remained with me. At first I was not concerned at all at this, I made the assumption that they (my friends) must have wimped off to their parents caravan during the night, when the cold temperatures became too much for them.
             I didn't have any inkling of the time, but from the bright daylight beaming in through the sides of the tent, I presumed that it must have been of a reasonable hour. But on the other hand, there was not a murmur to be heard from others in the campsite. Deciding that I would arise, I got into my clothes, unzipped the two parts of the tent and emerged - still fastening my shoelaces, but amazed to view an empty, desolate field with not a sole to be seen. There was a deathly silence, which sent a shiver down my spine, forcing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. .
             I could see the mist on the hillside, protecting a good view from my eyes. I began to stroll around and the dewdrops on the luscious, thick blades of grass caught on my shoes and left small water marks that began to leak through and into my socks.

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