Someone challenged me once to take something that I see and write about it without actually saying what it is. That is what this post is about. Showing, not telling.
Sudden light flashed through the sky contrasting the creeping darkness. It was only for an instance, but the jagged line had captivated me. It was beautiful, yet ferocious. A low sound followed. It was distant and it sounded like a hungry stomach. This thought made me laugh. Gentle wind flew outside. It played with the hands of the plants, making them wave at me. I returned their soft, friendly waves. Then they started moving furiously. The leaves twisted and turned, thrashing violently against the dangerous rocking body of the trees. The world succumbed to the darkness, casting the scene in shadows. My heart pounded in the dead silence. Then lights, everywhere, flashing through the night in an exotic dance. Some were bold, touching the ground, while others skipped playful from pillow to pillow that cradled the sky. The lights disappeared as quickly as they came. Suddenly, a roar of noise was upon me. Loud cracks and crashes, booms, bangs, and growls. It was as if they chased the dancers, angry they could not meet but only follow. The pillows could no longer hold the dancers that tread lightly and the followers who ran heavily. They broke and pieces came crashing down. For pillows, the pieces sounded dense. They landed accurately on everything, soaking with their mangled bodies. The lights and sound returned causing a show in the sky of which I had never seen. The wind thrashed and exhausted bodies fell harshly from the sky. The intensity of the strange dance grew until the world became consumed with the chaos. I hid, unsure if they wanted me to become a part of their show, until an exhausting silence filled the air around me. I peeked up and out the window that separated me from them, and saw that the dancers had left. In their place were small yellow pin pricks, flowers for their performance.