This week's edition of Cavalcade of Words is brought to you by this week's "chosen one", Dragon5616. There were several interesting entries this week, which I will discuss below the fold.
First, Dragon5616's entry, and the five words for the exercise this week:
Here is Dragon5616's entry:
It's hot as he lies there, sweat running in occasional rivulets under his arms and down his face and neck. The darkness is absolute. The cicadas and tree frogs form a curtain of sound so dense he thinks he could run his hand over it. But there's a change coming. He can smell the approaching storm, the metallic taste of rain drifting in his nostrils and settling on his tongue.
Dressed only in his boxer shorts, he shifts on the hard cot and feels the sleeping bag, damp with sweat beneath him, cling to his bare skin as he turns slightly onto his right side. The wind begin to rise, rustling the leaves like petticoats in a reel. The canvas ripples with a gentle flap, and his skin welcomes the breeze through the netted windows and door like an addict. Thunder mumbles a complaint in the distance. The sound of the leaves becomes more frantic with the next gust and the rain feels closer. Another clap of thunder sounds, still miles away but more distinct. The curtain of insect sound is gone.
He rolls off the cot, careful where he places his feet to avoid stepping on his sons, who are sleeping peacefully on the air mattress. He fumbles in the dark, untying the netting and reaching through to knot the cloth window flaps by feel. He shifts to the door, unzips the mosquito netting, ties bows in the outer flap tabs, and then carefully zzzziiiiiiips the solid inner flap from the top down. He snaps the corners and sits back down on the damp cot.
The wind is really up now. He can hear the ropes begin to sing. The trees have become an unceasing cacophony, and the tent begins to snap and pop like a sail, but the ropes and stakes and flaps hold fast. The air is cooler; the perspiration on his skin is drying. The rain begins, sounding like popcorn at first but quickly evolving into a steady drumbeat and finally into a deafening roar.
He lies down on the cot as if pressed there against his will by the sheer force of decibels. He closes his eyes, letting the sound wash over him. Suddenly, a nerve-rending CRACK-BOOM shatters the night. He flinches and his eyes fly open, but not in time to see the lightning. He realizes the hair on his arms and on the back of his neck are at static attention.
The boys are awake.
"Wha' was 'at?" asks the younger one in a sleep-drugged voice, barely audible above the roar of the rain.
"Whaddya think, genius? It's a thunderstorm," proclaims his older brother, instantly sarcastic.
"It's OK," he says clearly but soothingly. "We're all buttoned up and we ditched around the tent. It'll blow through in a few minutes. Go back to sleep."
The older boy sighs and rolls over. His brother pulls his feet up toward his chest.
All three of them lie silently, listening as the storm rages past.
Thunder booms again, but beyond them now. The rain downshifts from mind-numbing noise to a watery, musical flow and larger drops fall from the trees to the roof of the tent like punctuation marks. The leaves begin to chatter as the wind dies and the rain pummels them.
Minutes pass. The thunder continues its relentless march away. The rain gentles to a halt with just the drips as a reminder. As the wind dies, the air begins to morph back into a tangible wet heat. The boys' breathing is sleep-regular once more, one of them snoring softly.
He rises again, feeling with his feet and finding his way with his fingertips to reopen the main flaps and the window flaps and secure the nettings. But there's no breeze now, just a pervasive, damp, organic scent that mixes with the canvas to pique memories from his own childhood.
He lies back down on the cot. He hears the songs of the cicadas and the tree frogs pulsing in the night again. The drips are only occasional now, spattering on the wet leaves or popping on the canvas. He feels a film of sweat begin to coat his skin as he closes his eyes in the blackness and tries to sleep.
I have been just in such a place in time and space myself. And it doesn't hurt that I just saw Malick's new film A Tree of Life, which is evocative in a way this entry is.
Second, the rules of the road for this week's writing exercise:
Entry can be any style, genre or length, but must include the following words (chosen by Dragon5616) :
feline
remedy
extemporaneously
among
oppose
The deadline for entries is Thursday midnight.
Now, a few comments on the other entries:
Mungley's entry about being in the crowd at a late-80s Grateful Dead concert rang true, and took me into the pit with him.
Jaxpagan's entry left me with a sense of dread and anticipation. More please.
WiseFerret's rumination on dirt reminded me of days spent excavating in dark sandy loam.
squidflakes built a new world, and was original in the best sense of the word.
Go here, to read all the entries for yourself.
So, what can you write on this Five-Word theme? I am looking forward to your entries, which will be judged by Dragon5616 this week.
Good writing.