Write about a deserted city. Use all five senses to describe the scene
Sunlight reflected off shattered windows, shards of glass crunching under my boots. The road was deserted, as were each and every building I had gone into since entering the city. There was no sign of life anywhere. The only thing moving, other than myself, were these little pieces of paper, swirling, tornado-like in tight little circles among the cars and busses and bicycles left abandoned in the streets. The sound of the wind whistled eerily as it shrieked through the broken windows; eerie because it was the only noise in what should be a bustling city. I snatched one of the papers as it fluttered near; it was thick and stiff, and gritty in my fingers. My curiosity piqued as I read the words written there. I grabbed up several more of the papers, but when I realized they all said the same thing, my curiosity drained away and left only one emotion in its place. Fear.
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
I jog across the empty beach, winded and looking for a place to catch my breath and enjoy a moment of solitude as reward for having just run three miles. Up ahead, I see what looks like an old abandoned dock, or maybe it’s a pier, made of roughhewn planks across railroad ties, and I make that my destination. I sit carefully on a jagged board, mindful not to get splinters on my bare legs, feeling the coolness of the wood and the morning breeze that shivers across my sweaty skin, raising goosebumps on my arms. The action of the waves breaking upon the shore is somewhat hypnotic, and I can tell that the tide is out, because the breakers are far away, and mostly what I hear is the susurration of the water as it creeps upon the wet sand, leaving brackish foam in its wake. The cry of a seagull rings across the sky, and I watch as it soars and circles and gracefully lands in the water, joining more of its kind, lazily floating and bobbing in a shallow outlet.
In the distance, I watch tanker ships making slow progress across the horizon, and I find myself entranced by the whitecaps dancing upon the surface of the sea, whipped in to frothing motion by the ever rising wind, which carries the scent of salt and brine. And then my stomach growls with hunger, reminding me that I have not yet eaten this morning, and I think how lovely a nice hot cup of coffee would be right now; and with thought, I push off and begin my return jog, back the way I had come.
Tuesday, July 7, 2015
What am I doing here? I don't even like ballet! Night after night, the same routine, the same costumes, the same stage; the same, the same, the same! And then, here I am. On stage. The familiar racing of my heart as adrenaline surges through my body, and I barely have time to register the hush of the crowd as the lights dim and we take our places. The music and the dancing begins, and I am caught up in the motion and there is no more time to think, only to dance; and I forget, for the moment, that I hate ballet. And I dance...