Guest Post by Carolyne:
He had a soft but demanding voice. His words were dark and rhythmic as they entered my ears. He pressed himself against me and I stood straighter. I tried to concentrate on his words but the smell was drowning out all voice of good reason within me. That was the same musk my psychopathic step-father wore. Could it be him?
He stopped talking. My heart stopped beating. His blade ran down my neck. He had my attention.
“Don’t scream”, he whispered and I complied with his commands.
The words left his mouth like words leaving the mouth of a mother cautioning her child, but yet I received them as though they came from a stern army veteran. His words tapped into my ears like the rain taps on a window on an inky night. His feet inched forward until they made contact with my heels. I was determined to be a good ruler as I attempted to increase the distance between us. I creased my forehead- zeroing in on every syllable uttered- but my nose was sending distress signals.
That was the same musk that clung to my psychopathic step-father. Could that be him?
The mechanical movement of his jaws – up, down, up, down- like a broken record stuck on repeat, finally found a resting position. If one could see the electrocardiogram of my heart at the moment, one would only see a flat line. An object, I could only imagine belonged in butchery, found its ice-cold tip outlining the general direction of my vertebrae. Desperate not to miss anything, I clung to his every action.
“Don’t scream”, he whispered and immediately I begun the long and tedious battle of maintaining the silence.
What are your thoughts, class? How is Showing, not Telling working here?