Motionless, she stood gazing down the tunnel. The path extended as far as the eye could see, encased by walls of grimy bricks. She imagined that she could just make out a pinpoint of light in the far distance. The tunnel was less than half a kilometre, no bends, no turns, no side passages in which to get lost. Still she felt reluctant to enter. The towpath was wide, her head torch bright, even if she stumbled she was unlikely to fall into the placid canal water. Sure, it may be cold but never deep. At last she imagined there was a light ahead as of someone approaching from the far end and berating herself for being so foolish took her first step.
Poetic perspiration
When the pen takes control. · Fun with rhyme, events of interest, submission calls, nothing too serious.
When the pen takes control. 
Oooh, she might have a light, but…and there might be another, but… nah, I think I’d rather enter there alone
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