Judy ran to the barn
Apr. 17th, 2023 02:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lobelia321I will attempt to do cut tags. In case they don't work: This is an exercise in describing 'Judy ran to the barn' without any plot, seen through Judy's mind; for the Dean Wesley Smith workshop 'Writing In Depth'.
It was darned hot. The sweat poured down Judy's nape as she ran towards the barn. Bits of straw stuck to her bare calves. The field was as dry as a piece of unwashed chalk. Hay was piled up around her into looming rolls; she didn't know what they were called; not hay ricks, they were nothing like ricks. Tiny nameless insects got into her nostrils and batted against her spectacles. The Edingen-Heidelberg tram rumbled past on the tracks alongside her, throwing up a smell of burnt metal. She stopped and watched it go past, faces blurry behind the window panes. In the distance, the signal at the Hauptstraße crossing clanged.
Judy put her hands on her knees. There was a twitching in her left hip, and her heart thumped inside her cotton blouse. She slipped her fingers into the pocket of her skirt and drew forth a mint. It dissolved on her tongue, bright and almost painful.
Right. Back to running. She wore her new flat shoes with those modern shoe laces and the wavy soles. They chafed the back of her ankle, a persistent little burst of frustration.
There was the barn. Its paint, blanched red and flaking once upon a time, gleamed white in the sun. The old door with its creaking hinges had been replaced by some sort of aluminium gateway, with a panel of bellpushes to its left. Plastic plant containers, made to look like terracotta, flanked the path leading up to the façade. The flowers inside them wilted on their stem, and one of the pots had collected an empty beer can and a shrivelled up orange peel.
There is meant to be a cut tag here. It says: An earlier attempt. How is this so hard?
The sky was sulphur, angry clouds scudding across it like pustules. Thunder sounded beyond the Odenwald hills. Down on the plain, the late-summer stubble of the ochre fields pricked Judy's bare feet as she ran towards the barn, keeping the tram embankment to her left. Thistles scratched her shins. Her skin, under her cotton singlet and pyjama shorts, was bathed in sweat. Lizards perched on pebbles. The air smelled of brimstone and dry dirt. Judy's mouth filled with the sickly sweetness of a half-dissolved cough lozenge.
Unknown birds perched on the overhead tram cables, their screeches all but drowned out by the rumbling of the distant storm and the humming of the tracks. The barrier was down at the Edingen crossing and a white delivery van idled in front of the stop light as the signal clanged. The asphalt was hot and hard; grit stuck to her soles as she bolted across to the fields on the other side.
She skidded to a halt in front of the barn. It was smaller than she recalled, really no more than a squat hut, with the once-red paint flaking off the wood. The door creaked uneasily on its one remaining hinge. Empty beer bottles, shrivelled lemon rinds and a rusty bicycle bell littered the ground in front of the threshold.
It was darned hot. The sweat poured down Judy's nape as she ran towards the barn. Bits of straw stuck to her bare calves. The field was as dry as a piece of unwashed chalk. Hay was piled up around her into looming rolls; she didn't know what they were called; not hay ricks, they were nothing like ricks. Tiny nameless insects got into her nostrils and batted against her spectacles. The Edingen-Heidelberg tram rumbled past on the tracks alongside her, throwing up a smell of burnt metal. She stopped and watched it go past, faces blurry behind the window panes. In the distance, the signal at the Hauptstraße crossing clanged.
Judy put her hands on her knees. There was a twitching in her left hip, and her heart thumped inside her cotton blouse. She slipped her fingers into the pocket of her skirt and drew forth a mint. It dissolved on her tongue, bright and almost painful.
Right. Back to running. She wore her new flat shoes with those modern shoe laces and the wavy soles. They chafed the back of her ankle, a persistent little burst of frustration.
There was the barn. Its paint, blanched red and flaking once upon a time, gleamed white in the sun. The old door with its creaking hinges had been replaced by some sort of aluminium gateway, with a panel of bellpushes to its left. Plastic plant containers, made to look like terracotta, flanked the path leading up to the façade. The flowers inside them wilted on their stem, and one of the pots had collected an empty beer can and a shrivelled up orange peel.
There is meant to be a cut tag here. It says: An earlier attempt. How is this so hard?
The sky was sulphur, angry clouds scudding across it like pustules. Thunder sounded beyond the Odenwald hills. Down on the plain, the late-summer stubble of the ochre fields pricked Judy's bare feet as she ran towards the barn, keeping the tram embankment to her left. Thistles scratched her shins. Her skin, under her cotton singlet and pyjama shorts, was bathed in sweat. Lizards perched on pebbles. The air smelled of brimstone and dry dirt. Judy's mouth filled with the sickly sweetness of a half-dissolved cough lozenge.
Unknown birds perched on the overhead tram cables, their screeches all but drowned out by the rumbling of the distant storm and the humming of the tracks. The barrier was down at the Edingen crossing and a white delivery van idled in front of the stop light as the signal clanged. The asphalt was hot and hard; grit stuck to her soles as she bolted across to the fields on the other side.
She skidded to a halt in front of the barn. It was smaller than she recalled, really no more than a squat hut, with the once-red paint flaking off the wood. The door creaked uneasily on its one remaining hinge. Empty beer bottles, shrivelled lemon rinds and a rusty bicycle bell littered the ground in front of the threshold.
(no subject)
Date: 2023-04-17 01:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2023-04-17 09:50 pm (UTC)