AUTHOR'S NOTE: On a writing website, somebody posted five prompts to describe emotions in writing. They asked for a paragraph or two each. Me being who I am, I went way overboard. These were for a time posted as separate items and I was going to do that here until I found the original file with not only the five scenes (one is a rewrite of a scene from Horus, so isn't entirely original) but also my commentary on them all. So I'll post this as one item.
I can no longer remember who posted the prompts to give them credit; it was a very long time ago anyway. The file was last modified in 2006 which is WAY off; these likely date to around 2001. (The date of them being posted online seems to be 2002, so that might be it.) The bold headers are not part of the original file; the secondary intros are taken from other files where the same scenes were saved after they were posted online separately.
Original prompts:
You've just won the lottery!
You've just shot someone in the line of duty (you're a cop or soldier)
Your lover or best friend or close relative just died suddenly.
someone ran a red light and hit you broadside. assume you're not seriously injured
You're an evil person and to accomplish your "mission" you've just killed an innocent bystander.
My intro:
Okay, here I am as promised; hope you don't mind me using my own characters to describe these emotions rather than myself, I'm better off writing about someone else. These'll probably be longwinded too; I tend to really get into describing these guys.
First scenario intro (original title, "Random Scene 6"):
"You've just won the lottery!"...I'll use my cop characters from my Minot spinoffs for this one. Reichert, Kristeva, and Sammy D'Arca are all detectives; Bev D'Arca (Sammy's sister) is a detective also, while Christine DelBora is an officer. Apparently Bev's convinced DelBora to buy her first lottery ticket.
Secondary intro:
I wrote this scene as part of a writing exercise in response to a survey. The goal was to show a character's emotions when they win the lottery. Here are some of the characters from the unwritten novel Magic City--Kristeva, Reichert, Bev D'Arca, and Sammy D'Arca are all detectives, while Christine DelBora is an officer. Apparently Bev has talked DelBora into purchasing her first lottery ticket, and Sammy D'Arca isn't too pleased. :)
Scenario 1:
"She didn't even want to buy it," D'Arca grumbled, stubbing out his cigarette. "Bev practically forced her to. For God's sake, forcing gambling on some poor helpless soul. Everybody knows gambling's just a voluntary tax on the stupid."
"You stole that one from TV," Reichert murmured. D'Arca snorted at him.
"Would you idiots shut up?" Bev snapped. She stood beside DelBora, who held a small piece of paper in her hand, glancing between it and the TV. "We can hardly think, much less hear this."
D'Arca stuck out his tongue. "Serves you right, corrupting an innocent soul with that garbage."
The announcer on TV started listing some numbers for the second time, and DelBora gave a little jump and a gasp, her mouth forming an O and her eyes growing as big as marbles. She kept glancing from the piece of paper to the screen, her eyes getting bigger with each look. Bev leaned over her shoulder and did the same.
"I heard you like gambling once every so often," Kristeva said to D'Arca.
D'Arca scowled. "Cards don't count."
"Since when?"
"Since I said so. Cards ain't a girly thing like the lotto."
"Whatever you say. I'll keep that in mind next time I envision you sitting at tea with your little cards folded in your hand. Lace tablecloth and crumpets and all."
Reichert stifled a laugh. D'Arca's scowl grew darker. He started to retort when DelBora jumped again and gave a tiny shriek.
"I--I won the lotto," she said in a small voice. Everybody turned to look at her. She stared at the ticket and her eyes moved over the numbers repeatedly, back and forth. "I won the lotto," she parroted, then squinted at the piece of paper, and back at the screen. "I think I won the lotto...did I read it wrong...?"
"Oh for God's sake," D'Arca groused. "Nobody ever wins those things!"
Reichert and Kristeva got up and went over to the two women, both of them looking over her shoulder and comparing the numbers. They started nodding and murmuring and DelBora screamed and began jumping up and down, hands waving, but still holding tightly onto the ticket.
"I WON THE LOTTO! AAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH I CAN'T BELIEVE IT, I WON THE LOTTO!!" she screamed, and started laughing and bouncing around as if on a pogo stick. Bev caught her just long enough to give her a hug. Reichert took the ticket from her hand and he and Kristeva looked it over. The detective held it up and waved it at D'Arca.
"All numbers matched. Twenty-five mil. Hey Sammy, maybe you should be nicer to your sister, and she'll convince Christine to share with you."
"Likely story," Kristeva smirked. D'Arca's lip curled and he dug in his pocket for another cigarette.
"Yeah, and she's gonna have to split it twenty-five ways, the tax guys'll take the rest, and she'll be lucky to be left with ten bucks. There's your likely story, dipshit."
Bev flipped her brother the finger. DelBora was still too busy jumping up and down and laughing and screaming to bother insulting him.
Second scenario intro (original title, "Random Scene 7"):
"You've just shot someone in the line of duty (you're a cop or soldier)"
Hm...I'll use my Trench Rats characters for this. Please keep in mind, the Trench Rats are really...um...rats. They're from a furry story I'm writing, which takes place in WWII. But they still act like people. The Nazis fighting them are also...er...rats...who act like people. You'd need to understand furry to understand this. o_O Reseda, Amaranth, and Citrine are all Trench Rats, American soldiers.
Secondary intro:
I wrote this scene as part of a writing exercise in response to a survey. The goal was to show a character's emotions after they shoot someone in the line of duty. The characters here are from my furry story The Trench Rats--Citrine is a lance-corporal and has been in the battalion for a while, while Reseda and Amaranth are "newbies." They'll eventually figure out how war works...
Scenario 2:
"It's too quiet," Amaranth whined softly, and Reseda held up one hand to shush him. At the other side of the trench Citrine rolled his eyes and spat.
"You'd prefer hand grenades and bombs going off?"
"You know he's right," Reseda retorted in a quiet voice. "I think I'd prefer all that to wondering what the hell they're up to over there."
"That's why we're sitting here. So we find out." He spat again, and Reseda wondered if he did it just to be insulting. "Get used to it, newbie. Bad guys don't usually just stand up and let you know when they're coming."
He hated being treated condescendingly. "Is that a fact?" he snapped a little louder than he'd intended. "Maybe you should take a look up there then and let us know what they're planning, just so it's easier on us 'poor newbies.'"
"Why don't you? Get some good experience."
This time Reseda spat. And then he wasn't sure why he'd done it. Citrine smirked and the other Trench Rat stood and pushed himself up, grabbing onto the crumbling edge of the trench and lifting his head to peer up and over to the outside.
The first thing he saw was dirt. And then a gun, bayonet on the end, coming right for his face. His eyes goggled and he let out an odd strangled noise which caught the other Rats' attention. He managed to let go and fall into the trench, landing on his back, before the knife could gouge out his eye, but before he could get to his feet the soldier had appeared at the edge, raising the gun with a snarl on his face. The other Rats only gaped, caught off guard.
Bang. A red blossom formed on the German's chest and his arms faltered. His fingers loosened and the gun slowly fell from his hand. His eyes rolled back a bit and he sagged to the ground, his knees buckling so he fell backwards and not down into the trench with them. He hit the ground almost in slow motion and stopped moving.
Reseda, Amaranth, and Citrine all stared up at him. Then Citrine and Amaranth looked back down at Reseda. He still lay in the mud staring up, wondering what had happened--who had saved them?--only to feel something cold and heavy in his hands; his fingers were clutching it so tightly that they ached. His gaze wandered down to see the glinting piece of metal in his grip, barrel still smoking. He stared at it numbly, wondering how it got there, when it had been fired. Was it his gun? He didn't even remember drawing it. Yet now that it was in his hands, his fingers cold and wet and his hands beginning to shake, his skin clammy and his breath coming shallow, the thought of letting go of it made his heart squeeze up into his throat, threatening to burst out of his chest. The whole thing must have taken less than a few seconds, yet it had seemed like hours.
Third scenario intro (original title, "Random Scene 8"):
"Your lover or best friend or close relative just died suddenly."
All right. For this one I'll use a couple of characters from my D Is For Damien series (of which Minot is a spinoff). Trooper Broderick's ex-wife and young daughter have been shot by a person unknown, and he's currently at the hospital with his daughter Sara, the only survivor, while his friend Detective Mulroy stands nearby...
Secondary intro:
I wrote this scene as part of a writing exercise in response to a survey. The goal was to show a character's emotions after a loved one dies suddenly. The characters here are from my D Is For Damien fiction, and this actually makes a good backstory for later on in the series. Trooper Broderick's ex-wife, Carol, and his young daughter, Sara, have been shot by a person unknown, and the only survivor, Sara, is currently in critical condition in the hospital. Broderick's friend, Detective Mulroy, is there with him. (I'm not sure if Mulroy would have been old enough in the actual timeline, but this is the way I wrote the scene so it currently sticks. If he isn't old enough, just replace his part with Lt. Mabarak! ;) ) In The Scorpio Murders we learn that neither Carol nor Sara survived the attack, so this is what happened, more or less...
Scenario 3:
"Sir, I'm sorry but visiting hours are over..."
"I'm not visiting," Mulroy said under his breath. "I'm keeping an eye on him. We're not causing any trouble, so go on and do whatever it is that you do."
The young woman in the white uniform blinked at him with some confusion. "Sir, really, I--"
"Look. His kid's just been shot. His ex-wife's dead. A bunch of people probably think he did it. Does a stupid schedule really matter that much? Just go on and we'll leave when we're ready. When he's ready."
The woman blinked again but finally turned away, keeping her eye on him, and walking off down the hall. Mulroy watched her leave before glancing back into the room. He stood guard at the door, though he assumed nobody would be bothering them now. Broderick sat beside the bed and Sara's tiny hand was folded in his own. Mulroy felt a pang looking at them but said nothing. The oxygen mask she wore looked far too big for her face, and a little kid should never have had so many bandages all over her body.
"B?" he finally murmured. "How are you holding up?"
Broderick didn't answer. He hadn't said a word the whole time they'd been there, nor had he moved, even when a nurse had come in to check the tubes running into the girl's arm. The heart monitor kept up a steady beep-beep-beep beside her. B was usually a quiet person, but Mulroy had never seen him this quiet before. If it were him, he felt he would have been ranting and raving. Instead the trooper sat silently beside her, staring into her face as if willing her to wake up.
Mulroy sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm going to go down and get us some coffee," he said. "I think maybe you could use some by now."
He turned to the door and the monitor suddenly let out a fluttering sound and then whined loudly, a strident eeeeeeeeeeeeeee filling the air. Broderick sat up slightly and though his expression didn't change much, Mulroy could tell he'd been caught off guard. His grip tightened on the girl's hand. The detective's eyes widened when he saw the straight line on the monitor, and he whirled to the door, flinging it open and shouting out into the hallway.
"Hey! Her heart stopped!"
He hardly needed to yell it; a team of nurses and doctors was already on the way. They pushed past him and to the bed, chattering wildly. Broderick didn't even look up at them, not even when the nurse took hold of his arm and told him he had to move back. His hand seemed glued to his daughter's. Mulroy joined her and carefully pulled Sara's hand free, guiding Broderick away from the bed while the others checked her over, looking for life signs. After a moment they wheeled over a large machine and pulled out the paddles. Mulroy held Broderick back though the policeman made no move to push forward. He stared at the action with wide eyes, as if watching a movie.
The paddles made a whining sound. "Clear!" someone shouted, and pressed them to the little girl's chest. Her body jumped and then fell back. Mulroy jumped at the same time, and felt Broderick's muscles tense, his hand squeezing the detective's arm. The straight line moved on unwavering; the paddles whined again.
"Clear!"
Another jump. Everyone looked up at the monitor. The straight line moved on unbroken. By now Mulroy didn't even hear the paddles whining, just the rushing sound of his own disbelief. They pressed to Sara's chest again, but this time she didn't jump. Even without the oxygen mask, which they'd removed, she looked so small and pale.
"Dammit, clear!"
Mulroy felt Broderick's grip on his arm loosening. He turned from staring at the bed to look at his friend. Broderick's gaze hadn't wavered from the bed, though something about his eyes had changed. He no longer looked quite so surprised...but neither did he look like he believed what was happening. He had the look of someone remembering, or else trapped in, a bad dream--feeling the horror, in fear that it might be true, yet hoping somewhere in the back of his mind that it wasn't, that it was just a figment of the imagination. Sara's head rolled to the side and the man with the paddles pulled back, looking down into her face. Nobody was rushing to do anything anymore. The long steady eeeeeeeeeeeeee of the monitor continued. He lowered the paddles and glanced up at the clock.
"Shit," Mulroy whispered.
"Time of death, one forty-seven PM."
Broderick's hand let go of Mulroy's arm. Mulroy glanced at him again. He still stared at Sara, but now even the horror was gone. He seemed dazed, not quite certain what was going on around him. His hand pulled away slowly. He took one slight step back, and Mulroy suddenly feared him falling over from the shock.
He grabbed onto his arm. "Here, let's sit down." He steered him over toward his chair, which had been pushed out of the way in the rush. Broderick didn't protest when Mulroy gently pushed him down into it. He only gave Sara's still form a numb stare, unspeaking.
Mulroy would have preferred him to be screaming and shouting. At least he would have known how to deal with that. This was too strange. Too...quiet. He felt like screaming himself just to break the silence.
"B?" he whispered, bending down to look in his eyes. They stared vacantly. "Are you all right?"
"Sir?" He ground his teeth and stood again when the doctor who'd been applying the paddles came forward. He stopped and tilted his head slightly with an uncertain look, not sure how to speak to the policemen.
"I'm...I'm sorry for your loss," he said to Broderick. "We tried everything we could..."
"Yeah," Mulroy said.
The doctor bit his lip. "Is...is he all right? Should I maybe call somebody...?"
"What does it look like?" Mulroy snapped. "He just lost his daughter. Do you think you'd be all right? Just go away and leave him alone for now."
The doctor nodded. "Of course. We have a grief counselor down the hallway. You...um...might consider speaking with her before you go. Is the mother here...?"
"She's dead," Mulroy said in a flat voice, and the doctor paled and nodded again, turning away abruptly.
"I understand," he murmured, walking back to the bed. The nurses were shutting off the monitor and pulling the IVs from the girl's arm. Everybody moved slowly now.
Mulroy knelt down beside Broderick's chair, squeezing his arm. "B?" he whispered again. "Are you going to be okay?"
Broderick didn't answer. Mulroy might as well have not been there. He hated that empty look in his eyes. It was worse even than total despair. At least with despair, he would have known his friend was feeling something.
He didn't know how to deal with emptiness. That was what frightened him.
Fourth scenario intro (original title, "Random Scene 9"):
"someone ran a red light and hit you broadside. assume you're not seriously injured"
For this I'll use Dr. Leja from my D Is For Damien fiction since she's so levelheaded. ;)
Secondary intro:
I wrote this scene as part of a writing exercise in response to a survey. The goal was to show a character's emotions after getting broadsided in traffic. Yeesh. This actually happened to ME once, and it wasn't pleasant. Thankfully it was nowhere near as bad as what happens to poor Dr. Lynn Leja (from my D Is For Damien fiction) here!
Scenario 4:
Leja glanced into the rearview mirror, then forward again and tapped the steering wheel with her fingertips. Cheboygan never exactly had anything as big as "traffic jams," though once in a while she swore they came close. She still needed to reach her office at the clinic, but she never would if this kept up. The car ahead of her moved several inches but she herself waited until it finally pulled ahead and away before putting her foot to the gas herself. Her vehicle slowly lurched forward and began to pick up a little speed. It was about time.
She let out her breath--she hadn't even known she'd been holding it--and craned her neck to see if the line of traffic went on very far. Maybe it would be better to just take the back way. Longer, but with how slow the traffic on Main Street was today--
She heard a squealing sound and her first thought was to wonder about her own speed. Her foot hadn't pressed down on the brakes or the gas, so what was causing that? She caught sight of a large dark shape out of the corner of her right eye and started to turn her head when a jarring shock passed through her, throwing her against the door. She felt the road grinding beneath her and lurched back to the right, her seatbelt digging into her neck. She grimaced and tried not to choke. Her pulse had started up a hyperactive staccato beat on the first jolt, and now her heart pounded so hard her chest ached. She grabbed onto the steering wheel and it moved of its own accord beneath her hands. Then there was another jolt, and she slammed into the door again. A few faint squealing sounds and honks came from outside the car, and then all fell silent.
For a few moments she simply sat where she was, her breath coming hard and fast. She kept her eyes shut; she didn't think she wanted to see what it looked like around her, or what she looked like. It took her a short while to even start to consider what might have happened; for some reason she forgot she had been driving, and now sat in a car. Where was she? What could have caused that, an earthquake? It was the seatbelt that finally reminded her where she was; she could still feel it digging insistently into her neck, and lifted one shaking hand to pull on it a bit, loosening it. She realized she was biting her lip and stopped before she could hurt herself.
Hurt. What had happened? She'd seen something dark out the side window...somebody must have run the light and slammed into the passenger-side door. The second shock...she'd been driving over the bridge...and the railing must have caught her just in time. She let out a breath and shuddered. She could hear doors slamming and feet running but still didn't want to open her eyes. Her chest hurt; what if something was broken? She hadn't heard any glass shattering, but then again, she hadn't really been listening for it either. How badly was she hurt?
She had to look and see sometime...
She forced one eye open just a slit, teeth still clenched, just as someone ran up to the passenger-side door and peered in. She saw first her own hand on the steering wheel, and a small trickle of blood running across her knuckles. Bits and pieces of glass littered the seat and her lap. She opened both eyes and looked down at herself--there wasn't any blood on her chest, or anywhere else that she could see--and then looked up into the rearview mirror. The crash had jarred it a bit so she had to reach up and tilt it toward her, but when she saw her own eyes--clear and wide and free of cuts or blood--she took a deep breath and let it out once more, this time with a slight relieved noise. There was a small nick on her right cheek; that was all. Her hair had been mussed and she'd never seen her pupils so large before, or her face so white, but that was better than what other color it could have been.
"Lady! Are you all right? Oh my God, are you okay?"
Whoever had approached the other window now came around to her own, peering in. She glanced up with a start--for a moment she'd forgotten anybody else was even around, but now, looking, she saw all the other cars within sight stopped along the street, other people getting out and peering back at her, shielding their eyes from the sun. She briefly thought of how she must be blocking traffic, and resented that.
"Oh Jeez, I didn't even see it change, I swear I didn't," a voice babbled. "I wasn't even paying any attention...please, are you all right? Can you talk? Do you know where you are--?"
"I--yeah, I'm...I'm all right." Her voice came out sounding strange and far away; she wasn't certain at first if she had spoken, or if someone else had spoken for her. For the briefest moment it was as if she were looking herself over; she shut her eyes and shook her head. Dissociation. That was only to be expected after a trauma. The clinical part of her brain threatened to take over until she forced it to quiet down as well, and opened her eyes again. She was back where she belonged, and a man was leaning down to look in at her, his own eyes as wide and panicked as her own had been. Another glance in the mirror showed, however, that her expression at least was pretty calm by now. What...?
"Lady! Are you okay? God, you look awful! I'm so sorry! Please, come on, I'll drive you to the hospital, it's right over there..."
"I'm--I'm all right," Leja said again. Her voice sounded more normal now, closer, louder. She put her hand on the door and lifted the handle, pushing it open. The man backed away and as she put one foot on the ground she finally thought to look over toward the passenger side.
She rather wished she hadn't looked. The door was completely buckled in, caved in the middle so it gouged into the seat. The window had been shattered; just as she'd thought, she hadn't even heard it. If she'd been seated there, her right arm and all the ribs on the right side of her body probably would have been broken, not to mention what would have happened to her internal organs. Part of the windshield also, closer to that side, had cracked and spiderwebbed under the impact.
Another sigh--how long had she been holding it in?--and she stepped out of the car, grabbing onto the metal to keep herself from falling when a sudden dizziness came over her, forcing her to take a step or two forward to sit down on an undamaged section of the railing. Already a siren was drawing closer. She didn't care about the door or the window or whoever was at fault for what right now. She was grateful, however, that somebody took her arm to make sure she didn't keel over into the river.
For some reason that thought made her want to laugh, and as she dropped her head into her hands, neck starting to ache, and did so, the clinical part of her mind piped up again, letting her know in no uncertain terms that this was perfectly normal behavior also, considering.
Fifth scenario intro (original title, "Random Scene 10"):
"You're an evil person and to accomplish your 'mission' you've just killed an innocent bystander."
I hope you don't mind if I use a scene I've already written for this one, if I just rewrite it to elaborate on the bad guy's point of view. I'll use the character General Kusef from my novel Horus. Kusef is an Apsiu Kana, a warrior race (there are two main castes--the Kana, who are the fighters and can fly, and the Moru, who are the slaves and are flightless; a note, "Moru" is also a derogatory term used by the Kana to refer to anybody who can't fly, or to anybody they dislike). Kusef works for King Set, who is trying to keep the rightful king, Horus, from taking back the throne. Now Kusef's a pretty sleazy character. He detests humans, and he REALLY hates it when he has to lay down his weapons. In Chapter 17, he has to make his way through the temple of Thoth after the human Merisu, whom he wishes to kill. (Just for the heck of it--he's already killed one of his own kind.) However, one of the temple scribes is standing right in his way--and is really insistent on the temple's "no weapons allowed" policy...
Secondary intro:
I wrote this scene as part of a writing exercise in response to a survey. The goal was to show an evil character's emotions after killing an innocent bystander to achieve their goal. The "evil" character in this piece is General Kusef of the Apsiu Kana from my novel Horus. This is actually a REWRITE of a scene from "Horus: Chapter 17" (see my novel Horus), of events from Kusef's point of view as he chases the human Merisu into the temple of Thoth. Kusef detests humans and would be happy to see a particular few dead. He's just killed the traitor Apsiu Tarua, and is on his way to finish off Merisu (hmmm, whom I actually wouldn't call "innocent" :) ), when the temple scribe Hekanakht gets in his way. As Hekanakht should know by now, you NEVER get in the way of a mad Kana with a big sword!...
Scenario 5:
Kusef pushed his way through the crowd, scowling yet feeling a little bit of satisfaction every time he knocked someone down. His sword clanked at his side, a reassuring sound. He hadn't cleaned it off after killing off Tarua; the sight of the red blade at his side certainly kept more than a few of these pathetic Moru out of the way.
The temple came into sight. He tried not to think too much about the first time he'd been in here, when the scrawny human in charge had made him lay aside his sword. That had been insulting enough. He'd only done so because the king had told him to obey, but he didn't intend to do the same this time, now that he was on his own. He didn't have time to deal with that right now.
He stormed through the courtyard, very nearly kicking at the baboons as they scattered. Filthy creatures. The little traitor human, Merisu, must have sought refuge in here somewhere.
His hand clenched around the pommel of his sword and he ground his teeth together. The blade may have been red with blood, but it wasn't nearly red enough.
He dimly heard, above the roaring fury starting up in his own head, a scurrying noise too loud to be a baboon. His teeth ground together harder when a skinny shape appeared ahead, tossing up its arms and yelling, "Wait!"
Kusef bared his teeth. He continued walking, half hoping the idiot would just scramble out of the way. The human did keep a pace ahead of him, though he also kept his arms up. As if this little scrap could keep him out, a puny Moru taking on a Kana elite! If he hadn't been so irritated, he would have snorted with laughter.
"No weapons allowed in the temple!" the human insisted, palms out flat. "You'll have to leave them outside the gate."
How annoying. He didn't have time to deal with this scrap, when the traitor human was his primary goal. "Out of my way, Moru," he grated, as they made their way inside the temple proper. His hand clenched his sword even tighter, and he could tell the human saw. The scribe's eyes shifted slightly and his face paled. Good. Yet he stopped in his tracks, blocking Kusef's way. Kusef scowled.
The human held out his arms. "I can't let you pass."
For love of the gods, didn't any of these fools have better things to do besides mess up his plans! With a snarl of impatience he drew his sword. "Then I'll make my own way!"
The human's eyes glanced up, uncertainly following the path of the blade. When Kusef brought it plunging forward, into the human's left side, he briefly thought back to the other human, so much like this one, that he'd killed back in the Delta swamps. That one had dared to defy him as well. Served them both right for thinking they could defy the Kana and the king.
He cast barely a second glance at the human's crumpled form when the scribe sank to the floor. He stepped over him and made his way further into the temple, looking from left to right. Every flickering shadow just filled him with more fury and impatience, wondering where the traitor human was, where the coward could be hiding. The temple was huge. He could be hiding anywhere. Kusef had barely the time or patience to search the entire place!
He considered calling in another one of his men, or a few, then reconsidered. The battle for the throne still raged; he wasn't even supposed to be here. He should be on the front, beside his king. What a petty thing to be stuck doing, hunting down a Moru! One who wouldn't even be able to put up a decent fight! As soon as he realized this was exactly what he was doing--wasting valuable time when he should be aiding his king--he just grew angrier. He gnashed his teeth so hard they felt as if they would break, and the pommel of the sword dug into his hand. He had to find that human, kill him, and get on his way.
Second hall. He didn't know the layout of the temple very well, but glanced around again, and caught sight of a flicker that was more than a shadow cast by the lamplight. Aha. There he was, hiding behind a column. Kusef caught the panicked look in his eyes and his own eyes narrowed. Suddenly this looked as if it might be a bit worthwhile after all. He bared his teeth in a feral grin and strode forward, raising his sword. He'd killed one, perhaps two this day; another would hardly matter, and it would be a good service to Set. This human was nothing but a traitor, he knew it. No humans could be trusted. Plus it would earn him a good laugh at Mahai's expense; that fool had been stupid to trust a human to report to the king. With any luck, killing him would get him rid of Mahai, as well.
Tarua's death had hardly been worth it. He'd had to kill the Moru far too quickly. Perhaps this one would be more interesting.
His hopes were realized when the human raised his hands and started pleading for his life, babbling almost incoherently. Kusef grinned wider. It was always more fun when they begged. The human in the swamp--Rey-yah--had done no such thing, and that fact had infuriated him no end. He hated being denied that last bit of sport before claiming his prey. Whenever they failed to beg and plead, they took a little bit of the pleasure away from the whole act.
He barely even heard what the idiot was blathering about. It was all the same either way. He allowed his grin to gentle just a bit, to give the human a tiny bit of false hope that he was going to be let go safely; and when Merisu's eyes dared to lighten just barely, the Kana brought his sword swinging forward. He didn't jab him this time, as he had the skinny scribe and the old man in the swamp; instead the blade slashed across Merisu's middle, eviscerating him as he stood pleading. The human's eyes went wide and he gasped. Kusef had to keep himself from laughing, but he couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face, showing all his teeth. An almost giddy feeling filled him inside, and he finally wiped the dripping sword off on the dead man's kilt after he had collapsed to the floor.
By the gods, that had been entertaining! Much better than the other two humans, and better even than Tarua's death. One could never dispose of too many Moru. He gave a satisfied snort and sheathed his sword. Now he could rejoin the battle and fight with his men as was more fitting. This was Moru work; he had to get back outside the city. His own blood roared in his ears; killing off the worthless humans had simply fueled his desire to fight. With a spring in his step that hadn't been there before, he started to turn away, to head back to the front line where he belonged.
Before he could turn fully around he felt something jab him in the back, and his happy mood was immediately replaced by surprise when his throat filled with blood...
All right...now that I've got those all done, I think I went somewhat overboard especially with how long these are. I know that you did say a paragraph or two but this is how I get when getting into my characters' emotions; I like to think that's what drives fiction along. I think when describing the emotions of others the main thing to keep in mind is "Show, don't tell"--it's easy to say, "He was frightened," but how can one tell this for themselves? You should always try to put yourself in your characters' frame of mind, or give them your own. How do YOU feel when you're frightened? When I'm frightened, for example, my hands feel cold and clammy, my face goes white, my pulse races, my chest aches, and I shake a little. To apply all of that to a character describes their emotions a lot more effectively than saying simply[,] "He was frightened."
Sorry this was all so longwinded. I hope you don't mind, I'll be putting these responses in my portfolio as my own items. These made interesting writing exercises! :)
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