It’s a simple one, really - describe something using two or more senses. I’d love to read it if anyone does it, but I doubt, considering how busy this time of year is, that anyone will have the time to bother.
I’m posting my result here, so that I can still satisfy myself that I am publicly displaying my work and whatnot, but I am secretly certain that nobody will bother with it. I am counting on it, in fact.
It’s very boring, it’s basically describing some trees. I suppose if that’s your thing then go ahead.
The hollow was the sort of place one dreamed about.
Trees surrounded the place, as is typical of anywhere in a wood, but these trees were grander than usual, and darker, so that black branches reached across and entangled themselves above the hollow. It always seemed colder, here, in the shadows of the trees, so that most of the year you could see your breath rise ghost-like into the dimness above, and the chill crept deep, deeper than cloth, than flesh, and filled the bones until you felt you could never be warm.
Everything was hushed in the hollow. Seldom did a bird stir, and even the insects seemed strangely absent. In the silence your heart beat too loudly, so that you pressed your fist against your chest in an attempt to still it. Your breathing, similarly, sounded obscene. Talking? You did not talk here. It was forbidden.
There was really only one purpose for visiting the hollow. You knelt in the center of it, and pushed away the leaves, trying not to shiver, not to recoil from the sensation of wet and blackened leaves against your hands, the musty, feral scent of loam and rot and cold deep-running water. Then there is stone beneath your fingers, ancient grey stone, covered in the indents of what had once been carvings.
Then, while the forest listens, you prick your finger, and let fall the blood, and think about what you want. And if you were brave, you stayed a moment, watching the stone drink up your sacrifice, feel the trees lean in towards you as if scenting the air.
You did not stay long, no matter how brave you were. You must leave, for the trees are closing in around you, and much longer and you will be trapped forever.
Dreams are not always good, and neither was the hollow.
Eh, it’s typical of my style, but I don’t usually use ‘you’, since it actually generally annoys me in writing. However, I felt that since it was a writing exercise anyway, I might as well experiment.
So there you go, some trees. Meh.