Writing Exercise 2-20 Emotion descriptions

Write a paragraph describing the following emotions:

Fear

Whump. Kate stirred in the dark, just on the edge of twilight sleep, registering the sound with no real awareness as she pulled the cover closer to her chin. Stillness returned briefly to the darkened bedroom and Kate’s subconscious loosened her into welcome oblivion. Then, louder and closer, whump. The sound of something, soft, like a bag of potting soil was being dropped in the carpeted hallway outside Kate’s bedroom door. Suddenly awake and aware, she sat straight up in bed, unsure of what she heard, unseeing in the midnight black. Why wasn’t Malone barking? Kate’s pulse hammered out a staccato warning as she slipped slowly out of the bed towards the door she always left cracked for the terrier who usually spent part of the night at the foot of her bed. She crept slowly towards the door, her eyes adjusting to the dim moonlit room as she attempted to peer out - her feet seemed poised for flight, her mouth cottony and thick. “Who’s there?” she managed to stammer, surprised at the tremble in her voice as it pierced the curtain of black hallway. There, just for a moment, she thought she heard a slight whimpering, a strangled whine coming from nearby. “Malone?” she whispered to no one, waiting for an answer she now knew would never come.

Anger

It didn’t take but a second for Ned to put his fist through the living room wall. Either that, or it would be her face. He could feel the rage bubbling up from some deep, black place - didn’t she realize by now that he couldn’t control the swirling dark mass, couldn’t withstand the overwhelming hunger it felt to be set free? He grinned as she cowered away from him, her eyes darting with the false hope of escape. He was outside of himself now, voyeur to the almost demonic possession contorting his face into an unrecognizable mask of fury, his body into an oncoming train. She was going to pay and it was going to feel good.

Pleasure

"Chocolate,”, the missionary urged in slow syllables. “Choc - o - late.” “Choklot,” repeated the dark skinned boy, sitting on bare haunches near his family’s hut. The missionary had only been with this particular tribe a few scant weeks, and success at communication and trust were slow in building. Frustrated, he did what he always did when needing a little comfort - he went to his camp for the Godiva stash his congregation had sent along to ease his chocolate addiction. The curious youngster hovered near his own hut, afraid to approach, but dripping with curiosity about this white man and the odd food he held in his hand. Following a grueling thirty minute coax and plead routine, the missionary was able to sit next to the boy and offer him the treat, knowing that this boy had never tasted chocolate, or sugar for that matter, in his young life. The child stared at the strange, brown shape, rolling it over in his hand before bringing it up for a cursory sniff, followed by a quick, tentative lick and then a small bite. The missionary watched as the boy’s eyes closed in happy rapture as the sweetness burst into his mouth delivering exquisite, almost unbearable new sensations to the boy’s young brain. Dreamily, he opened his eyes when the last of the candy was reverently placed on his tongue, and with a brownish, gooey smile, he held out his hand and said one word in his native language, a word that pleading eyes hoped would be understood by the deliverer of such delights. Grinning, the missionary knew he didn’t need a translator for this word. Using the universal translator of body language and facial expression, he knew what the boy had said without question. “More. Oh please, more.”

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Quote of the day: Her mouth is small, precise, virginal, her lips closed against appetite. K. Harrison "The Kiss"
Chosen because it's an exquisite image, rendering perfectly in my mind a mouth dead set against assault.