Challenge Five -- Ready to Give it a Go? SHOW, DON'T TELL DESCRIPTION SCENE!

[Sean]

Hello Creatives!

Here we are, with another great challenge to wrestle with. This challenge should not take you more than ten minutes max. The most important aspect of this challenge is to have fun, and be creative. Editing is secondary--that can happen after you've posted, if you want (but no pressure).

In this challenge, the writer will attempt to describe the following scenes using the items listed. The most important aspect is to SHOW, don't TELL the scene.

Words to draw from:

An overripe peach OR blackberries in cold milk OR a ice cold can of Coca Cola OR grabbing a hose and turning on the water...

A teenage boy or girl.

Your character is thirsty from a long, hot day of picking up bails of hay. They are hot, itchy, dying of thirst, and sunburnt. But they are happy.

Describe the sensation of appearance, touch, taste, sounds, and emotions for your scene.

Good luck with this challenge!

(If you haven't as yet tried challenges 1-4, please give them a go!)

Thank you!
Sean Elliot Russell

[J.I. (Jake)]

His heart pounds in his ears. His breath comes in deep, heaving gasps. His eyes sting with sweat. He's never worked this hard in his young life. He's never been happier.

The hay has managed to creep into every open spot between his clothes and his body. Each movement of his arms, each time he bends to pick up another bale feels like sandpaper. He loves it, he welcomes it.

Only two more bales to go. He can almost hear the ice chilling around the Coke in the cooler at the back of the truck. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth at the thought. The straps around the bale creak in protest as he heaves the bale to the top of the pyramid he's constructed. The slightly sweet smell of rotting hay waifs past. The sun beats down. He should be doing this work in the dark but there wasn't enough time. Everything happened too quickly.

One last bail. He sags over, hands on knees to catch his breath. Seventeen years. This body should be in better shape. He'll have to pick a better one next time. Critters mill about his feet, oblivious to his work. The skin on his arms is a bright shade of red. He can't tell if it's from the heat, the exertion or the ultraviolet rays cooking his flesh. It doesn't matter. His smile is so wide the cracks around his eyes are bright against the sunburnt flesh.

He grunts heaving the last bail up to the top of pile, hay dust clouds the air. It's been years since these's bails have been moved. Years since anyone has even paid attention to them. It's the perfect spot. The ice, the sweet of the soda, it calls to him. His throat aches even more now as the hay attacks him inside and out. He can't stop, finish the job.

Soggy wet clothes pull at his body as he climbs to the top of his makeshift mountain. His odor adds to the pungent smells. Can the body be decomposing already? He shakes his head, can't be. Way too soon. At the top of the pile he shoves the last bail into position, over the top of the makeshift casket he's created. The last bit of light glints off the hair of his victim before the space is covered.

He jumps down off the pile, strides over to the truck, removes the Coke and sighs with pleasure as it goes down, washing away the irritation. The truck door creaks as do the old shocks as he climbs in. A happy tune plays on the radio, it matches his mood perfectly as the engine chugs to life and the truck pulls away leaving the newly built hay stack to gleam and roast in the sun.

[Sean]

jI, really nicely done and with an interesting twist at the end. So creative!

Have you lived on a farm, JI?

I loved the description of the bail's strings as it was lifted. And your other sense-usages were spot on.

Thanks, JI!

-Sean

[J.I. (Jake)]

Thanks, Sean! You can call me Jake. Still figuring my way around Goodreads, "branding" myself (J.I. Glover is my author name), etc. :)

I've lived in Kansas in some fairly rural areas for 20 years or so. I've got decent first hand experience with hay bails!

Thanks for setting up the challenge and the interesting set up! (And for the encouragement, too!)

[C.S.]

Who would have thought hard work could be so invigorating … and ichy? Sandy snorted hay dust from her nose as she tried yet again to evict the scratchy remnants from her once black, sleeveless, cotton tank top and picked slivers of hay off her tongue.

A soft evening breeze drew gooseflesh out on her scratched arms, sticky and prickly from moving bales of hay with her cousin Matt. Of course, he did the bulk of the work, but for a city girl she thought she did okay. And she would, no doubt, be sore tomorrow ... and need burn cream for the sunburn that stung the bridge of her nose and the tops of her shoulders.

Groaning, Sandy lowered her stiff body down into soft grass next to the greenhouse. The cool blades brushed her with a welcome embrace and the ritch-ritch of thousands of crickets melded with the scent of fresh mown hay, sweet and warm and familiar, to churn up memories from when she came to her grandparents’ farm as a little girl. Playing games and enjoying spitting watermelon seed contests with Matt and his sister Maggie.

She lowered her lashes, squinting, imagining she was an impressionist painter like Monet as the declining sun’s rays painted the side of the greenhouse in myriad shades of pink and orange.

“Catch.”

Matt’s command caught Sandy off guard, but she managed to catch an overripe peach between her hands and the front of her shirt. Soft, sticky peach innards smeared her fingers and mashed into the dusty black of her shirt, releasing their honey-fresh aroma as she pushed up to her feet.

“Matt. Not fair! I wasn’t ready.”

His laughter sent her flying toward the barn. This meant war.

The rusty, squeak of the faucet handle alerted Matt and he began to back up, his hands held out before him in supplication. “Sandy! No!”

Squealing her delight, she shifted the nozzle to jet, pointed and sprayed. Oh, what a beautiful evening.

[C.S.]

J.I. (Jake) wrote: "His heart pounds in his ears. His breath comes in deep, heaving gasps. His eyes sting with sweat. He's never worked this hard in his young life. He's never been happier.

The hay has managed to cre..."

Wow! That was amazing! And a little creepy ... but in a good, scary way. Nice job! You pulled me into the action with the way you painted your scene.

[Sean]

Hi Jake, I suspected you must've been on a farm based on your spot-on, tactile descriptions.

Chris, wonderful scene you've created for us. Really loved it! Have you ever been on a farm, Chris?

[C.S.]

Sean wrote: "Hi Jake, I suspected you must've been on a farm based on your spot-on, tactile descriptions.

Chris, wonderful scene you've created for us. Really loved it! Have you ever been on a farm, Chris?"

Thank you. Yes. I've also lived in the country most of my life.

[J.I. (Jake)]

Thanks, CS! Yours made feel nostalgic. It’s a great set up! Thanks, Sean!

[Sean]

I'll write my entry in the next week. :) -Sean