Show, don't tell [Game]

[Hysteria]

Time for a game guys 'n girls.

Often instead of showing the reader something, we (as the writer) will state it. For example, 'Bob was angry' instead of 'Bob squeezed his hands into fists so hard that his knuckles turned white.' This also happens with our characters' personalities. 'Bob was a smart person.' without showing any instances of him actually being smart.

So, game time. Pick an emotion and describe the effect it has on one of your characters. Write the emotion at the start of your post. Don't directly say your character is feeling the emotion, show me!

Length should be a paragraph or two. Entries get 100 gold and the best entry gets double gold. Have at it!

[Tobias Stalt]

Bereavement.

He knelt at the edge of the lake, eyes dark and distant. The moonlight reflected from the water danced mockingly in front of him, though he seemed indifferent. Tobias dipped his fingers in the shallows absently, and the ripples carried his thoughts with them to the opposite shore. They faded from sight, but somehow, he took solace in their futile effort on his behalf.

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder, and Tobias glanced up to see Alyssa smiling softly down at him. He managed a half-hearted expression of his own, but it died short of matching hers. As she crouched down to seat herself next to him, Tobias fumbled through his cloak and produced a shattered, black blade. Once, the weapon belonged to him. Men are destined by nature to fall short, and his own failings manifested in that ruined weapon.

Alyssa brushed his hand as it trembled, and together they thrust the corpse of Blackheart into the sand. Tobias stared at the hilt, drawn inexorably by the lure of its tale. "He should have stayed out of the way," Tobias muttered bitterly. Alyssa placed a pale finger to his lips. He glanced at her tearful eyes as she shook her head.

Tobias had to look away.

[Auramancer]

((So I don't know if I'm allowed to enter yet but I figured if it's a game then why not? Also the feeling I'm trying to convey is Anxiousness. Also edited a little.))

The light danced across the stone walls as the two ventured further and further into the darkness of the sepulcher. Aaron was becoming more nervous... Even with the bright light of Kragor's staff it seemed that the darkness would swallow them both. His body felt heavy, and his breathing became more rapid. Aaron was becoming more and more aware of his surroundings; the damp stone, the pitch black darkness, the sounds of their footsteps echoing down the seemingly endless corridor. He could feel the adrenaline begin to course through his body. Sweat started dripping from his brow, despite the fact that the further they ventured downward, the cooler it became. Aaron's breath now seemed to freeze in front of him, turning to mist then quickly dissipating. His esophagus began to tighten and burn as he gasped for air. His pulse quickened, and the heat left his body; a sharp chill that pierced Aaron to the bones.

"We're here." Kragor stopped, shining the blue incandescence of his staff on to what appeared to be a door at the bottom of the stairs. Slowly the wizard began to pull the key from his shirt. As he did, the golden light which had been emanating from the key earlier turned from a smoldering flame to a raging fire. Aaron's ears began to ring, the humming sound he'd heard earlier was growing. It was as if the sound was trying to escape his skull. Aaron gripped his head tightly and let out a hoarse groan from the intense pain. Quickly Kragor shoved the key into the door and pushed. The sound died down, and a gust of air blew through the crack in the door onto Aaron's face. He felt a rush of calm crash over him like a wave. Wherever they were, Aaron felt as if the worst had passed.

Sadly, he was sorely mistaken.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Boredom.

Apathy. Ennui. Lethargy. Indifference. Tedium. The good ol' fashioned doldrums.

The same record had been playing in the phonograph all day long. Nostrovsky's Concerto for Piano and Orchestra No. 18. Influenced heavily by the legendary composer's experiences in Salvar's civil war. Given the minor key and the heavy emphasis on long, depressing sections of piano and strings, I had to guess that Nos had been stationed in Knife's Edge, towards the twilight of the conflict.

Likewise, the same glass of water had been sitting on the table in front of me. A simple, undecorated thing that was mostly full of water. I had barely taken a sip from the thing all day. The ice cubes that I put in it had long since melted, adding to the volume it held.

...How much water was in there, anyway?

Well, a pint glass made in Corone can hold sixteen ounces (Salvic glasses hold twenty, since those bastards can drink), and it was about seven-eights full, after the four ice cubes melted. That would dictate that there were fourteen ounces of water in the glass. However, I knew that was likely incorrect; like most pint glasses, this particular one was wider at the lip than it was at the base. Each ounce of liquid would take up less space on a vertical axis as it reached the brim of the glass. So, yes, fourteen ounces was incorrect. It was more likely closer to twelve, maybe twelve and a half ounces. Possibly thirteen, but probably between twelve and twelve and a half.

I leaned forward in my worn leather chair, and grabbed the glass in my briar-knit hand. I pulled it up to my mouth, and took a big gulp before setting it back down on the table in the exact same spot, marked by a thin ring of condensation soaked into the wood.

I fell back into the comfort of the chair and stared at the glass again, its clear contents swirling around softly, and found myself wondering how much water was in there now.

[Flamebird]

Passion.

Fire. In one hand, it could warm up a room, bring life. In the other hand, it could destroy. To burn a house to the ground, the light up a forest and strip it of life. To bring one up, or to tear it down; that was the power of a tiny, single, flame.

Which side of the spectrum would consume her?

In the face of jeering and taunting, the center of ridicule and discrimination, a little girl was victim to a world full of cold, bitter darkness. In the darkness, a light was needed to match. What purpose would that light serve though? She felt it deep within her, begging to come out. A desire for change.

That single flame flickered.

As she grew, so did the flame. It found a match, or lighter fluid of sorts, and it grew larger. Consuming, burning, taking over as that light came to the surface. A fighting source, the backbone of a desire for change. What kind of change though?

Fire could give birth to life... or degrade it to ashes to die.

She drew a sword for the first time. That flame erupted, like an explosion, and her eyes widened. A type of life, a feeling of that flame expanding, spreading towards her surroundings. The redhead did not pause, overtaken by what was now a raging fire.

A power, both in will and body, was in her hands. How would it affect the world?

[Fez_The_Kid]

Fury.

Anubis’ normally mild comportment changed steadily: his brows puckered in a scowl, pure ire threatening to consume him and mangle his sanity; his nostrils flared, eyes flashing and closing into slits. He slurred words unintelligible to the ears, spewing into space like lava leaping from a mountain’s magma-filled crater. The Salvarian’s hands balled into white-knuckled dukes, seeking to splinter the tree in front of him to pieces; he summoned all his powers into one, cocked back fist - eyes unwavering from the target.

Flesh clashed with bark in a discordant symphony, a magic-influenced blow puncturing square through the plant’s rind. The tree moaned briefly, sloping back on its base before meeting the ground with a puff of dust and a fading shudder of the earth. Anubis noted the stump that remained intact, shoulders heaving as he gasped for air. He clenched a fist, but alas, that blow had drained his limbs of all corporal energy. He could do nothing but frown, closing his eyes as he struggled to conciliate himself.

“No more vandalism,” he puffed. “Suppose I’ll have to pine a while longer.”

[Hysteria]

Anyone else, you've got two days before this closes

[loves.blessing.]

Fear-pain

McKinley drew back quickly waiting for the impact of the fist to her cheek though the blow was never delivered. Her heart slammed against her rib cage as she allowed one eye to open. There stood her Master Joel with a cruel smile on his face before he gripped her hair so tightly that she was sure that when he let go her blood would stain his sun kissed skin. Tears stung in her piercing blue eyes as she automatically gripped his hand with her own to try and lessen the throbbing that was coming from her scalp. The effort of her to lessen the agony though just earned her a blow to the ribs as the air that remained in her lungs was forced out. Trying to bend over with instinct just caused her more suffering as he still tightly gripped her fiery locks. A small struggled whimper left her lips as the tears than spilled down her freckled cheeks. This seemed to happen more often now since Master Joel took her from Master Earnest, the beatings were swift but each leaving her shaking with the torment of knowing the next one was coming soon.

Something she had done most have made her Master snap because he roughly threw her too the ground before climbing on top of her. His weight alone made her bruised ribs ache but as he wrapped his large hands around her frail neck starting to constrict her air way panic set into full affect. Her vision started to blur from the lack of oxygen as black spots started to dot her site, dancing all around her surroundings. She started to weaken as her fingers that had been clawing at his large rough hands slowly started to slip to her sides. The sound of her heart galloping like a horse drowned out any other noises as she thought I am going to die...

The world slowly faded to black as she felt the pressure on her throat lifted as she gasped for air, though her heart sore with the fact that she was going to live it than slowly sunk and broke as more tears ran down her cheeks. More beatings were to come because he was cruel enough to let death kiss her before ripping her from its grasp. Slowly as blackness enveloped her, her last thought was, I wonder if the next beating will be as gruesome as this one.

Than the dark claimed her for the time being before fate was cruel enough to wake her to face her impending doom

[Hysteria]

Pick an emotion and describe the effect it has on one of your characters. Write the emotion at the start of your post. Don't directly say your character is feeling the emotion, show me!

The judgments focused on:
Displaying the physical effects of the emotion
Any imagery used to represent the emotion in the environment
Poetic or similar literary techniques used.

Tobias: Winner! (200 gold!)
That was pretty good, great use of purposeful silence to draw out the actions of the characters. The use of water really set helped capture his mood, silent and calm on top with much more going on below.

Babe: Equal 1st Runner Up! (150 gold!)
Ice has more volume than water, if it melted, it’d decrease in volume…. but I digress. That was a good take on the prompt. I’d have liked a bit more description of the music. When you mentioned it, I was expecting a bit more. I laughed out loud at the end.

Loves.blessing: Equal 1st Runner Up! (150 gold!)
That was a pretty full on. There was a sort of detachment that came through at the end as well that was a bit off putting. Given the nature of this challenge it may have been better to focus on her response more than the Master’s actions. The hands clawing at his was a good image, but I’d have liked to see it drawn out a bit more. A futile attempt to remove his hands, then trying to push his face away with the last ounce of strength as her eyes widened with tears welling over. That’d carry the sense of powerlessness that she’s feeling.

Everyone else, 100gp! Comments in post order:

Auramancer:
Good entry (and I’m glad you entered!). When I think of anxiousness, I think of cold shivers of anticipation, trembling hands, uncomfortable dampness, tense muscles, wide eyes, quick glances, shallow breathing, etc. A bit more of those would have helped paint the picture.

Flamebird:
Metaphors are hard to work without if you don’t provide context. In Tobias’s entry, I took the water to be a metaphor for his emotion. In a lot of movies (generally older movies now) they used to use waves on a beach as a metaphor for love making. Take the movie Grease, right at the start the two main characters are rolling in the sand as the waves wash over them. It works because we have the characters shown to us, then the imagery shown. For fire, there are a few distinct aspects you can draw upon. The first is the way it eats through it’s fuel, symbolising destruction. Another is the flickering flame, producing light. This can be used as passion and hope (the cliché, but effective example is fire reflected off someone’s eyes). Final one is the shadows it casts that will flicker and dance like the flame itself. I use this a bit with Talen as a counterpoint to the light of the flame.

I hope some of that is of use!

Fez_The_Kid:
I was waiting for someone to mention white knuckles I would suggest cutting some of those sentences in half. I find short, sharp sentences convey rage better. Brisk descriptions, separated by a comma or two, help focus the reader’s attention. While it’s probably a stylistic choice, rage unsated tends to leave more a mark. If you ended with a howl of frustration of some sort it would have left on a high note. The volcanic simile was a good choice.