A Slight Change In Plans

Contest. I'm going to keep bothering you about this until you enter (you know which one of you I mean).

I know it's distraction Friday and I had a post up for a while. But then I realized it was the Final Crusader Challenge. Whoops. Guess I've been busy. Anyway, this time, the challenge is to SHOW what's going on, not tell. Okay, let me "show" you the rules:

My Show Not Tell Challenge: In 300 words or less, write a passage (it can be an excerpt from your WIP, flash fiction, a poem, or any other writing) that shows (rather than tells) the following:

• you're scared and hungry
• it's dusk
• you think someone is following you
• and just for fun, see if you can involve all five senses AND include these random words: shimmer, saccadic, substance, and salt.

Since I want to be a good Crusader (well, as good as I can get), here's my piece. I just wrote it five minutes ago, so it's probably not my best work. But! It was fun.

I want to go home.

It’s… I don’t know. Late. An orangey sun dips low in one corner the sky. In another, a few distant stars shimmer against a sapphire backdrop. But the light’s giving away to shadow. It’s dark enough so I can’t see where I’m going.

I keep my eyes firmly on my feet. I can’t afford to be slowed up by a fall. The vial is still in my hand because I’m too afraid to keep it in my pocket. One little crack and a lot of people are going to be dead.

This was a mistake. I stop, wondering if I should go back despite the trouble I went through. My jaw throbs, I might be bleeding internally, the leg I’ve been hobbling on will never be the same.

I finally look at the place I’ve come to. Inside the houses are happy families, not a care in the world, are eating around dining room tables. I sniff the air… are they eating barbecue? I want to join them so bad… my stomach is demanding I knock on the door, who cares about the blood on my face or the strange substance in the vial? No, it can’t harm you, I’ll say with a smile that will elicit screams.

The woman in there has a splotch of sauce on her face. Her kid is shaking salt over an ear of corn dripping with butter—delicious—and look at that cake! Chocolate cake, if I’m not mistaken… Delicious. Not like the copper overtaking my mouth. Might want to see a doctor about that.

Footsteps. Loud. Uneven. Saccadic.

Not mine.

Time to start moving again.

There’s no way out for me.

I squeeze my hand around the vial.

There might not be for the world, either. 

You like? I like.