TINY TUESDAY (m)
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TINY TUESDAY (m)
| Tue, 11-13-2001 - 9:44am |
TINY TUESDAY (m)
In week two of our writing with our senses, let's write a scene or short story that concentrates on hearing/ears.
Does this sound like fun?
Mac

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My TT
Retta unzips her black jacket, flings off her short, red, Hottie shirt while Trevor stares. She lowers and tosses her jean shorts to the warm sand, kicks her sandals into the air then dives into the dark water.
While Retta treads water she watches Trevor strip down to his black boxers then jumps in and joins her. “Wow, the water feels good.”
Retta puts her arms around his neck. She kisses his moist lips. “Nice bod, sexy”
The moonlight beams highlight the couple, a train whistle pierces the still air. Just as sexual urges increase they hear the sound of a motor close by.
“I sure hope they can see us.” Retta says.
The hum of the engine blares, the lights come near. There appears to be two boats.
“Come on; let’s get the hell out of here,” Trevor says.
The roar of the ski boat, the slap of the water echoes before it travels over them.
“Hey Jack, was that a white bra, and underwear floating or am I seeing things?
“Oh, NO! the briddddge,”
KABOOM, fire sizzles as it meets with water, popping sounds as the fiberglass melts, a scream unlike ever heard before, “Hellppp”, muffles and drowns out before the crashing waves tip the broken vessel, bubbles swallow the remains as it sinks into the depth.
The moonlight beams casts light upon two sets of footprints in the cool sand.
Garsh maria, you meanie (heheheh).(m)
At least the couple escaped. I could hear all the goings on. Nice job.
Linda
cl-ozarker
"We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master." - Ernest Heminway
These sensory exercises are a great idea. Here's mine.(m)
THE WAIL
The muffled wail was reed thin and sharp as an ice pick. Bettina Gump jumped from her chair, the book in her lap falling to the carpet with a thud. The room was quiet except for her pounding heart and the roof raising snores of her husband, Ed.
"Ed. Ed! Wake up." She shook him.
"Huh? Wha ... What the dickens are you doing?"
"Listen!"
The wail crescendoed again, a little broader this time. "God a'mighty. What is that?" Ed came up abruptly; the metallic whang of his recliner folding underscored the spine chilling sound.
"Go outside and see what it is," she begged. The wind set the branches of the old Magnolia tap dancing against the window.
"Are you nuts? There's a storm coming. Can't you hear that wind?"
"But Ed, what if someone's gittin' tortured, maybe even murdered in that empty house next door."
The unbearable screech rose and fell, then rose and fell again as Ed reached for the phone. "I'm callin' the sheriff." The clicking of the buttons on the phone was swallowed in a sudden flash of lightening and the immediate crash of thunder. The phone went dead. Ed dropped it as though he'd been shot. Another flash and the house was plunged into blackness.
"O-o-oh, Ed."
"Stop your damn caterwallin' and get me m' flashlight." She heard a thump and "Damn it," as the hassock thumped against her chair. The drawer of the secretary zipped out, and she heard the soft click as the flashlight bloomed light.
"Here." He handed her the light and opened the bottom drawer. She heard the sharp metallic double click as he checked the ammunition in his old service revolver.
"What are you gonna do?" Her voice was a squeaky tremble.
He jerked the closet door open and grabbed his wind jacket. "I'm gonna find out what the hell is goin' on over there."
The wind caught the front door as he yanked it open, and banged it against the wall. Betty fled to the closet and grabbed her raincoat, jamming the flashlight into her pocket. "Well, I'm right behind you, so make sure you shoot the other direction if you have to use that thing."
They crept across the lawn. The rustle of her plastic coat and the swish of branches in the hedge row that separated the two houses faded in and out in the drum beat of rain.
They tottered cautiously up the creaking stairs of the ramshackled porch and peered in the half open door through the lightning flashes. Nothing.
They crept into the musty living room, searching in the beam of the flashlight. The wailing screech rose again and the flashlight clattered to the floor and went out. Ed grabbed his chest. "My Lord ..."
"There!" In the next lightning flash, Betty pointed toward the kitchen at the back of the house. She clung to his shoulder as they tip-toed toward the sound.
"Well, I'll be damned." Ed stopped, his gun hand falling to his side as he snapped the safety on. The heavy metal-framed storm door, leaning outward on one bent hinge, slowly scraped open, then back, against the large rusty piece of sheet metal someone had bolted over a hole in the rotting wood of the back stoop.
THE END
The
cl-ozarker
"We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master." - Ernest Heminway
Loved it, It sucked me in and held on. I like the husband & could picture him.n/t
Wonderful perception of sound Maria. Good Job (n/t)
FANTASTIC Linda. I love the suspense and the range (m)
of sounds being heard. Marvelous story.
Heheheh, thanks dv. BTW, can you(m)
email me? I can't find your email addy and I have a pretty good edited draft of Murder by Mule done. If you're going to be at judy's chat, you can just give it to me there. If not, email me. Okay? Thanks.
Linda
cl-ozarker
"We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master." - Ernest Heminway
Thanks thia.(nt)
cl-ozarker
"We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master." - Ernest Heminway
Too funny, Maria (m)
That ending was hilarious. I thought you did a great job with all the sounds you expressed.
Very enjoyable,
Mac
You're definitely showing us how (m)
these exercises should be done. As always, I loved this one. I agree with dvspec and Thia that you hooked me right away and held my attention to the very end. I also loved the exchange of dialogue. Smooth and natural.
One tiny nit-pick: if you abbreviated Bettina, I think it'd be Betti vs Betty.
Great job, Linda.
Mac
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