Using Sensory Words to Create Vivid Scenes
Silver wax oozed from the crevice of the door, clammed shut thanks to my flamethrower.
It was my mistake to guide the children to the roaring music hall, where bellows hoisted violin strums on their backs and where the madness drowned out the screams of the 2nd graders.
Alix trained hard, for months, chucking rocks to build biceps, dismantling Legos to construct meteorite wrists, til he was finally bulked and poised with a pencil to launch the final bullet to his Chemistry exam, the impact starting a fire that smelled old and musky, but the completion of his mission placed a buttery taste on his tongue.
The grilled cheese sizzled on the pan, murmuring secrets only the flies could hear. Its greased surface threw white back at the light bulbs; oil droplets popped up, fell down, slid like ice atop the pan and beside the sandwich. The bread was tan, black along the sides, and carried a charring-hot taste—not because it was cooking but because red pepper seeds were peppered throughout the melty orange cheese. It carried the smell of a quesadilla.
His phone twinkled from the hill’s bottom, guiding me like the north star to safety from this freezing forest.