Alright Folks, I’m going to continue the object writing topics, I think it’s important to keep those skills up. I am simply using objectwriting.com prompts so if some days the words are bizarre know it’s the AI not me!
Todays “Who” is Sergeant.
remember to stay sense bound and only write for 10 minutes
Taste, Touch , Sight, Sound, Smell, Body, Motion - Pat Pattison
Spit flies from his mouth like the bullets recruits are readying to fire. Screams drilling into ears, a jackhammer of abuse. muscles tensing as the sergeant charges down the line smelling out those ready to crack. Energy of youth trembling at the unhinged man they are made to look up to. Body odour and whiskey breath so thick it muffles the clanking of guns being stripped and rebuilt over and over.
Damn it’s been awhile since writing one of these i’ve lost the mojo
I really like the opening imagery of the spit firing out like bullets, it might be fun to play further with this idea of the sergeant as a gun; aiming his ferocity, a trigger of irritation, words firing out of a raging barrel toward a helpless target. The rest of the passage sticks tightly to those senses, so whilst you may feel out of practice you can be chuffed at how that fundamental principle hasn’t slipped!
The slow gentle pulse of his heavy leather boots beating the ground beneath as he glides across the paralysed line of statued soldiers. Eyes are locked forward as they await the suspicious glance of inspection. Muscles tensed, the only shiver of movement where the wind catches the disobedient hair that is free from the confinement of a scratching beret. The sergeant’s voice is loaded with an ammunition of commands that will fire through to unfreeze this proud parade.
DEET and gunsmoke tickled the hairs in his wide nostrils. Small buzzings crossed his path, bug or bullet, does it even matter here. At least one could ease your mind with rapid death. That, of course, assumes that your prayers are answered for a clean shot from a master marksmen. With the opposition being formed primarily of armed farmers, that hope is not likely. If he had been smart, he would have purposely erred in order to be busted down a rank or two. The tension between inborn work ethic and the desire to not write letters to wives, sons, daughters, and parents weighed heavily. As ominous booms pounded the woods from unknown sources, his pulse knocked against the inside of his boot, rubbing blisters like needle tracks. He reached down and attempted to pull the leeches off, but the slick of slimy skin (or perhaps the exhaustion of muscles and tendons on fire) would not allow him to tear it free. He has already written five letters in his mind, it looks like three more are necessary. One day, hopefully soon, the link up the chain will write one for him and he will rest.
I love “jackhammer of abuse”, it is cool because it almost speaks to the military-industrial complex. You were very effective at letting me know this was a drill sergeant without telling me. Well done. I don’t think you are rusty at all.
Another drill sergeant! Ha. Great job. The contrast of boots “beating” and him “gliding” is strange, I am trying to picture how you get both. It is a fun phrasing, but I am not sure I understand it. The shiver of movement of disobedient hair is a great phrasing.
I really like how you have captured that tension between courage and fear, and using the letters as a euphemism for death is a really powerful device. Very descriptive stuff with the blisters and leeches etc, reading this really was like watching a movie!