So I haven't written anything in a long time, and the last few times I did write something, it was always on the darker or sadder side. So when the new campaigner challenge rolled around, I decided it was time for something a little less dark.
Okay, so my piece is a far cry from comedy, but it's not sad or depressive as anything else I've attempted lately.
The challenge was to write a 300 word or less story that's showing and not telling (something I'm not that good at) that shows the time as morning, the location as a beach, the main character that's bored, and something stinks.
So, here you go.
The blue water glistened in the sunlight and wet dew clung to her toes as she took a step toward the water. Birds chirped overhead and fish jumped in the water. “Could you hurry up?” She yawned. The taste of imaginary coffee danced through her thoughts.
“I told you to sleep in,” he said, glancing at her over his shoulder, the fishing pole steady in his grip.
No, he hadn’t told her. She covered her mouth and yawned again. Slowly, she tapped her foot. “What kind of fool goes fishing at the but crack of dawn?” she muttered under her breath. A slight breeze flew by. Small shivers of chill ran up and down her arms, she crossed them. Here she stood in her sleeping shorts, a tank top, and flip flops. The cabin’s warm bed called to her like a siren. “Why do you even fish? It’s not like you eat it.”
“It relaxes me.” He didn’t turn to look at her. “So you’ve really never gone camping before?”
“Nope.” Who in their right mind would? “I’m going back inside.” She turned and took her first step toward the cabin. Ahead, several dogs ran around as a lady walked behind them. She rolled her eyes. Dogs, erg. . . Annoying, barking, pains in the rear end.
“Okay babe, be careful not to. . .”
She took another step when her left foot landed in something slushy. Stench, like death itself, assaulted her nose.
“. . . step in any. . .”
She quickly lifted her foot and the stench rose like poison through the air. Bile formed in her throat as faint ran it’s sickly fingers down her spine.
“Dog shit,” they said in unison. This was the worst vacation ever.