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In honor of National Novel Writing Month, I thought I would share with you a scene I just wrote. I'm not participating in the 50,000 word exercise. In fact, I hardly ever write anything. But I had a thought, and like most writers out there, I just had to get it down on paper.
Tell me what you think.
A wave splashed against the rocks hundreds of feet below him. On second thought, they weren't rocks, the annoying things that get stuck in your sandals as you walk along a dusty path. They were jagged boulders, some of them many times the size of a man.
His heart raced, and beads of sweat crowded his forehead. His bushy eyebrows held many of their fallen brethren. He wiped one eyebrow with the back of his hand, sending a gallon of retired sweat to the ground below.
His mouth was both dry and wet at the same time, his body seemingly unable to decide which state was needed. He licked his chapped lips and immediately wished he hadn't.
He had already told himself not to look down again, but he couldn't help himself. It was as if the sound of the waves crashing against the boulders below were calling out to him, urging him to stare at their beauty.
To be thinking of nature's beauty at a time like this. His ironic thought was accompanied by a small smile, which only reminded him of his chapped, cracking lips.
A jab to his back from the wooden staff of his accuser brought him back to his present predicament.
"So, are you going to be a man and do it yourself or do I have to push you off?"