Your challenge this week is to practice your powers of observation. Take any person, place, or event, and write three paragraphs describing your subject in great detail. ∞
I’m not familiar with writing fiction, so this challenge was tackled with the intentions of finally going outside of my comfort zone. This took me a while to finish, but I got it done and I must say, even I want to see where it goes. Enjoy.
The air was thick with the smell of alcohol. A Banker desk lamp, illuminates the room with a dull, yellow glow from underneath the green lamp shade. The antique brass finish standing out atop the cherry wood shaker-style library desk. A laptop open, cold from being unused, revealed nothing but a dark screen, the letters of the keys slightly faded from the constant use. This desk, although seemingly abandoned, was in good company; bookshelves on both sides of it, brimming with weathered hard-cover books. Along the desk edge there was a yellow legal pad, college-ruled, notes scribbled on it in black ink which was smeared in certain places among the lines that are meant to keep words neatly encased. A black barrel gold trimmed fountain pen, dripped ink onto the bottom of the notepad and bled through the thickness of what remained untouched leaving a corner black and saturated. Caramel residue at the bottom of an empty Glencairn glass left a now dried ring of condensation on the top sheet of the notes. It is almost as though the room was left in a rush, but not without care to finish the last drink.
A ray of sunshine, peeking from a slightly raised black-out shade, revealed that dusk had not yet fallen. Visible from the window, were the white specks of snowfall. A fresh blanket of snow, the purest white imaginable, lay atop the lawn that had been left to wither away over time. The reflection of the sunlight upon the snow was blinding, yet the snow glistened and sparkled like it was made of diamonds. What could be mistaken as an apparition was only a shadow that disturbed the beauty of the untouched snow, casting darkness in the form of a person, perfection now tarnished with footprints. It moves silently towards the window… then there were shoes. His hair, slicked back and visibly thinning, variegated hues of black, grey, and white shining in the sunlight, appeared instantly in the crack. He bent down, head bowed, then slowly raised his face, revealing eyes as turquoise as the Peyto Lake, towards the sky. These exuberant eyes were held in by a weathered face, riddled with crow’s feet, dark under-eye circles and long eyelashes that could put the most beautiful woman to shame. Clearly, he had shaved recently as there was no beard, just a prickly 5-o’ clock shadow that also revealed the same variegated shades of the hair on his head. As his eyes widened, seemingly glowing in the vast reflection of the sunlight off the glistening snow, they quickly closed hiding those magnificent pools of turquoise as his body crumbled underneath his own weight into the snowy ground.
Crimson, crushed velvet felt soft against his skin as he began to wake on a Rococo Revival sofa, carefully carved scrolls and floral designs swirling whimsically above him to his left. His eyes began to focus, revealing the deep pools of turquoise, as a figure appeared standing over him. “Sunshine,” he muttered under chapped lips when he saw her hair. Underneath the golden yellow curls that draped softly on her bare shoulders, a face as pale as moonlight, brushed with hints of pink from being outside in the cold, looked back at him. Her rose pink lips puckered naturally below a button nose followed above by vividly green eyes speckled with flecks of gold and grey. She sat alongside him, the crimson fabric contrasting against a teal strapless, floor length A-line dress that effortlessly showed off and complemented her perfectly porcelain skin. He lifted his hand to thank her, but she raised her hand to stop him. She needed no thanks. This man was her father and she loved him albeit his drunken rampages that left him staggering home after a long night and she was left to care for him. That familiar aroma, perhaps bourbon, from the room filled with books arose from his lips as he said, his eyes red and now tearing, “I must confess to you…”