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cestovatela
Write a 200-word description of a place. You can use any and allsensory descriptions but sight: you can describe what it feels like,sounds like, smells like and even tastes like. Try to write thedescription in such a way that people will not miss the visual details.
As I'm without a word-processor program, I have no clue how far under or over 200 words I am. I'm also not sure how well I ended up doing place descriptions.....but I tried. I kept myself from using sight at the very least. Original and short.
The air conditioner chugs mightily in its continual struggle to add a tiny wave of coolness to the muggy blanket of air that occupies the attic apartment. The small amount of air that reaches me on the squeaky springs of the wall-bed mattress makes me shiver, but my muscles are still too rubbery to allow me to cross the room and change the direction of the flow. The pinpricks of coldness and shivers of chills provide a slight distraction from the tear-inducing pain of my ear, throat, and head. When I was a kid, mono was tiredness and not being hungry. Ten years later, it's a lethargy that makes it a chore to climb two flights of stares even though I was playing soccer a month ago. The tiredness alone can bring tears to my eyes, but the sharp raw pain of every swallow and pounding pain in my ears with every heartbeat already have me keening and crying. Rarely felt homesickness overtakes me as my body rocks back and forth in a motion that is at least distracting, if not pain-relieving. Slowly, the fatigue drowns out the pain and sluggish whir of the air conditioner accompanies me to blissful unconsciousness.
The smell of honeysuckle seems out of place in this city. Beyond the mass of concrete and noise of machines just few yards away, my mind argues that it's not hot enough for the smell to occur. Honeysuckle brings back memories of air so hot and muggy that it takes effort to push your body through it. Of anticipation of waiting for my brother to pick the sweet smelling flowers and the taste of something so sweet and yet so fresh that it's nothing like candy. Of the sound of dirt dobbers, wasps, and hornets angrily buzzing around us and in the background, the laughter of my parents with my aunt and uncle. Honeysuckle will always remind me of an innocence untainted by hurry. The smell is out of place in a city of mugginess, but without the heat of Oklahoma. It doesn't carry as far when it has to compete with the pungent, acrid odor of pollution, trash and urine. Yet, it's all the more welcome for the brief, brilliant flash of home.
ETA
Musk just underneath the heady smell of fabric softener, there's nothing better. Whether you're sweaty or just showered, it can't help but bring a small grin to my face. Your heat, you're always so much warmer than I am, warms me to my soul and blocks out the coldness of a world where nothing seems to matter. Your curves and lumps cradle me, and for the first time in a long time, I feel at peace. I could stay like this forever. The special tone in your voice that lets me know everything will be okay. I always want to believe that you've only ever used it for me, but I'll never ask. Your arms always grab a little too tight when it comes time to hug goodbye, but I never say anything because that would mean telling you that I'm comparing it to hugs that others have given me. Besides, everything about you can't be perfect. It's enough that you want it to be.
cestovatelaWrite a 200-word description of a place. You can use any and allsensory descriptions but sight: you can describe what it feels like,sounds like, smells like and even tastes like. Try to write thedescription in such a way that people will not miss the visual details.
As I'm without a word-processor program, I have no clue how far under or over 200 words I am. I'm also not sure how well I ended up doing place descriptions.....but I tried. I kept myself from using sight at the very least. Original and short.
The air conditioner chugs mightily in its continual struggle to add a tiny wave of coolness to the muggy blanket of air that occupies the attic apartment. The small amount of air that reaches me on the squeaky springs of the wall-bed mattress makes me shiver, but my muscles are still too rubbery to allow me to cross the room and change the direction of the flow. The pinpricks of coldness and shivers of chills provide a slight distraction from the tear-inducing pain of my ear, throat, and head. When I was a kid, mono was tiredness and not being hungry. Ten years later, it's a lethargy that makes it a chore to climb two flights of stares even though I was playing soccer a month ago. The tiredness alone can bring tears to my eyes, but the sharp raw pain of every swallow and pounding pain in my ears with every heartbeat already have me keening and crying. Rarely felt homesickness overtakes me as my body rocks back and forth in a motion that is at least distracting, if not pain-relieving. Slowly, the fatigue drowns out the pain and sluggish whir of the air conditioner accompanies me to blissful unconsciousness.
The smell of honeysuckle seems out of place in this city. Beyond the mass of concrete and noise of machines just few yards away, my mind argues that it's not hot enough for the smell to occur. Honeysuckle brings back memories of air so hot and muggy that it takes effort to push your body through it. Of anticipation of waiting for my brother to pick the sweet smelling flowers and the taste of something so sweet and yet so fresh that it's nothing like candy. Of the sound of dirt dobbers, wasps, and hornets angrily buzzing around us and in the background, the laughter of my parents with my aunt and uncle. Honeysuckle will always remind me of an innocence untainted by hurry. The smell is out of place in a city of mugginess, but without the heat of Oklahoma. It doesn't carry as far when it has to compete with the pungent, acrid odor of pollution, trash and urine. Yet, it's all the more welcome for the brief, brilliant flash of home.
ETA
Musk just underneath the heady smell of fabric softener, there's nothing better. Whether you're sweaty or just showered, it can't help but bring a small grin to my face. Your heat, you're always so much warmer than I am, warms me to my soul and blocks out the coldness of a world where nothing seems to matter. Your curves and lumps cradle me, and for the first time in a long time, I feel at peace. I could stay like this forever. The special tone in your voice that lets me know everything will be okay. I always want to believe that you've only ever used it for me, but I'll never ask. Your arms always grab a little too tight when it comes time to hug goodbye, but I never say anything because that would mean telling you that I'm comparing it to hugs that others have given me. Besides, everything about you can't be perfect. It's enough that you want it to be.
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(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-23 05:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-24 09:12 pm (UTC)