Third Campaigner Challenge : Show Not Tell
Write blog post in 300 words or less, excluding the title. The post can be in any format, (flash fiction, non-fiction, humorous, poem, etc.
- It's morning
- a man or a woman (or both) is at the beach
- that the main character is bored
- that something stinks behind where he/she is sitting
- that something surprising happens.
Involve all five senses AND include these random words: “synbatec,” “wastopaneer,” and, “tacise”.
Here is my offering. You'll guess what genre right away, I'm sure. I not only used 5 senses, but the 6th one as well.
The Synbatec Island Caper
The sand felt like warm topaz between Zofia's bare toes, while watching her husband. Dorian's dark head stood out against the turquoise expanse of sea and sky. Broad shoulders held stiffly, he kept vigil.
Leaning forward, elbows resting on her knees, chin resting in the cup of her hands, she sat on a large piece of driftwood. She ran the back of one hand across her sweaty brow watching little crabs race back and forth from the water's edge.
“Why isn't he here?” she shouted above the crashing tide. Strands of her hair, loosened by the cooling breeze, caught in her mouth. She spit the salty bits out making unlady-like noises.
“Stephen said he'd be here by morning,” Dorian said.
“It's nearly mid-day,” she pointed out.
The material of her wastopaneer, and the sleeves of her blouse stuck to her. She undid several buttons, and wanted to rid herself of all of her outer clothing. “
The breeze that had been blowing her hair against her cheek and neck abated. The stench of something that smelled like rotting meat reached her.
“Goddess! What is that smell!” Jumping from her spot, a chill ran over her arms, a sense of foreboding rising in her. She stared at the log as though it were the source of the offending smell.
Brows rumpling, Dorian said, “Darling, your wastopaneer is showing.”
Zofia looked down and found that her wastopaneer was showing. Quickly she buttoned up.
“Stephen will be here shortly.”
“But there's something dead over there!” She pointed.
“Dead? Really?” He hedged forward, straining his neck. “Where?”
“There!” Zofia nudged him. “It might be a wild tacise!”
“No,” Dorian peered behind the log Zofia had been sitting on. His eyes going huge he breathed, “It's Stephen. Dead!”