Descriptive writing exercise: feelings

[Serenity79]

Ok here is my attempt!

The quietness around, makes my thoughts sound deafening. The room is empty; sure it has furniture covering more than half the floor. Almost every item of furniture has a badly arranged collage of ornaments and other clutter, but to me the room is empty. There is no one here to fill the void inside me.​

I call to Joey and the budgie hangs his head upside down and looks quizzically at me. I make kissing noises to Tabatha, the sleeping cat who lies curled in a ball no more than a foot away from me on the sofa. The only response is the pricking of one ear. Had she been awake maybe she would have trotted proudly over to me and pressed the side of her face repeatedly into my hand while purring, but that would have been small comfort.​

So I sit alone with my thoughts and pick up the remote control from the arm of the chair. I press the red button in the top corner while pointing at the television opposite me. The familiar voices from one of my favourite programmes give me a small measure of relief from the quiet, but no matter how recognizable the voices or how many there are to drown out the quiet, I am still by myself. I notice a tear rolling down my cheek and I know that soon many more will follow.

 

[FionaW]

Loneliness - in dialogue, which for me is more of a challenge:

‘Because,’ he forced the words out, ‘because neither of my parents liked me. They looked at me and saw something so hateful that one of them killed herself and the other kicked me out.’


‘Your mother was ill.’


‘Is that enough of a reason? I don’t think so. There must have been something, something I should have done to make her care about me enough to stay. But I didn’t. She loathed me.’ He laughed, a hoarse bubble of sound. ‘And so does my father. One might be coincidence, but two’s a pattern.’


‘Tiel,’ she took hold of his hands. ‘Your mother was ill and your father—Ovras is an evil *******. It has nothing to do with you.’


He shook his head, pulled away. ‘You still don’t understand. It’s a voice in my head, always reminding me that I’m not the sort of person it’s possible to care about.’

 

[FionaW]

Claustrophobia:

Tiel's construct was a box, a more difficult structure than a sphere, with the additional complication of edges and corners. He tied the ends in and dissolved the repelling filaments, feeling the construct flare and settle into place.


He waited, trying not to smile.


‘At last,’ his father said. He reached out, and Tiel could feel the power slide over his construct. It was the best work he’d ever done, beauty and magic in perfect alignment—


The construct shuddered and dissolved. Tiel's jaw dropped.


‘Shoddy,’ his father said. ‘Typical.’ With a negligent sweep of power he wrapped Tiel, suspending him horizontally at head-height, and walked out, slamming the door.


Tiel struggled against the invisible bonds, trying to quell his rising panic. The darkness was absolute, as if he was blind again, pressing in on him from all sides, menacing in its silence.


No. That was stupid. It was just dark, and he wasn’t afraid of the dark. He struggled again, and felt the bonds tighten in response. He had to be careful; the last time he’d nearly suffocated. This time, perhaps he would; maybe that was his father’s intention—he tried to drag his thoughts back into some sort of order. Only four hours. Maybe a bit more, as that was a short lesson. Only four hours. And if I can work out how to undo these—as he eased his mind into them, the bonds tightened again and his thoughts scattered.


Imagine I’m outside, on the plateau in the sun. Lots of space. I can breathe there. Now. Try and escape. There must be a way. There must be a way…


When he finally fell to the floor he had just enough strength to make a tiny magelight, barely enough to banish the shadows from the room. He lay on the cold stone, shuddering, his clothes soaked with sweat. He’d never noticed before how the walls pressed in on him, sealing him off from the world. Like a tomb. The panic rose again, forcing him to his feet. He had to get out—there was no air—


‘Are you all right?’


Someone was bending over him. He looked around; found he was slumped at the edge of the courtyard near the stables, propped against a wall. He focused on the concerned face above him and recognised one of the kitchen maids.


‘Yes,’ he gasped. ‘Just overdid it a bit. I’ll be all right when I’ve had a rest.’


‘Well, if you’re sure.’ She didn’t sound convinced.


Something nagged at him. Kitchen maid. Kitchen. He needed to eat, but he couldn’t do that here. ‘Could you bring me a drink? Please? Something with honey?’


She nodded and hurried away. He closed his eyes again, feeling the breeze cold on his face, filling his lungs with fresh, sweet air. It would be good to sit here all day, just breathing.


‘Here.’ She was back, holding out a mug to him, the contents golden and steaming. He took it from her, the sudden warmth in his hands making him realise how cold he was. He sipped carefully, tasting wine, honey and spices, and then forced all of it down as quickly as he could, trying not to gag at the sickly sweetness.


‘I brought you some cake as well.’ She took the empty mug from him and pressed a cloth-wrapped bundle into his hand. ‘Do you want me to get someone to help you to your rooms?’


‘No, thank you. I’ll be all right now.’
​

 

[FionaW]

Anxiety (and much, much later in the story):

‘Nervous?’


‘No, I’m fine, I’m just…’ Tiel met Carsarrion’s eyes. ‘Petrified.’


‘You’ll be all right once you see her. It’s the strangest thing about getting married. All the uncertainty just vanishes the moment she starts walking towards you.’


‘What if she changes her mind?’


‘Tiel, she’s in love with you. She won’t change her mind.’


‘I just find this all so unreal. I never thought anyone would…I mean…’


‘Stop it.’ Carsarrion, seeing how much he was trembling, pushed him into a chair. ‘Calm down. This is going to be better than you can possibly imagine. Trust me, I've done it myself - twice.’


‘Do you think I’m going to make a fool of myself?’


‘Do you?’


Tiel looked down at his shaking hands, pressed the palms against his thighs. ‘No.’


‘Good. Because it’s time to go.’


‘Already?’ Tiel shot out of the chair. ‘Come on, then—I mean, I don’t want to be late—do I?’


Smiling at one another, Sild and Carsarrion followed him out of the room.
​

Thanks for the inspiration - it's been great to think through the story and write out scenes like this!

 

[haylesthompson]

Thought I'd use this for one of my characters from my work in progress. Revlyn or Reevy is her name.


Loneliness

The apartment was dark. Common sense would see me lighting the fire, and flicking on the lamp, but I didn't. I didn't move from where I sat, crouched at the foot of the sofa, staring blankly at the empty grate.
Otto was the one who usually lit the fire. And he wasn't here. I didn't know where he was.
Head in my hands a strangled whimper escaped my lips. I was distraught with despair, it threatened to over run me, take over. My body shivered with tension, my back was slowly cramping up with the constant stress on the muscles laying there.
The house was silent to. Despite my whimpering and wails.
He hadn't told me where he was going, he just left, cream coloured wings arching over his back with apprehension. I didn't blame him for feeling nervous or for taking his leave, but still...
My head couldn't get round the sheer emptiness of the place, our home.
Folding my knees tighter against my chest I smothered another wail.