This is my scene based on the assignment on writing incorporating the other senses besides sight found here: https://authoramiegibbons.wordpress.com/2015/01/16/life-isnt-sterile-your-scenes-shouldnt-be/
“Who are you?” I asked the darkness, turning my head, eyes searching with the stupidity of trying to smell dinner when you have a cold. I couldn’t even see vague shapes or differences in tones. I touched my face. Yep, glasses were gone. Maybe the guy took them, maybe they just got knocked off when he grabbed me. Waking up in darkness freaked me out, but at least I was alive, dressed and uninjured.
Wait, why wasn’t I freaked out more? “Why aren’t I scared?”
No answer. He was here though. Faint breathing off to the right? Maybe it was in front of me. But it was there.
Honestly, I was probably better off with the darkness. Unless whoever had me had night vision, the darkness at least put us on even ground. If there were lights, I wouldn’t have seen much more than blurs. If the guy was standing still, I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between him and a piece of furniture.
One of these days, I was going to figure out a spell or potion that could fix my damn nearsightedness.
I’m going to have to buy another pair of glasses. How am I going to get home blind? Or survive the week it will take to make the lenses? I’m not going to be able to work.
Yeah, because that was my biggest problem right now.
“Hey, kidnapper guy, I know you’re here. I can hear you breathing.” We were definitely in a room. My voice didn’t travel or echo and I could sense the secureness of a nice snug space around us. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. Every place, every person, had a smell, it was just a matter of focusing on the minutia to drag it out.
Sharp, lemon ammonia tickled my nose, making it twitch. Cleaner. I took a deeper drag through my nose. Male… sweat? Less stinky. I took another deep whiff and my heart rate picked up. That was definitely… er, man scent, and it smelled good. And familiar.
Oh, this is so messed up.
I backed up, keeping my steps light. I had it on good authority from my cat that I almost walked as quietly as one of them. Almost, because no self-respecting cat would ever bestow such a compliment on a human to say they were as good at anything as a cat.
I tapped the wall, keeping my ears sharp and focused and my hands out. He wasn’t coming any closer unless he really was a cat. If he did get close enough, I could pop out my wings. They came out fast and I’d given friends black eyes accidentally before when I was scared and the damn wings popped in their faces.
But I wasn’t scared. Still, even in the dark with a strange man. I wasn’t scared.
“What did you do to me? To keep me calm?” I asked. No answer. Ha, like that’d stop me. If I couldn’t out-wait him, I could certainly out-annoy him. “Because I’m a seriously high strung person. Ask anyone who knows me. My flying cat thinks I’m wound tight. You know that’s saying something when a cat says that. I’m a patent attorney and I’m telling you, if you figure out how to bottle whatever it is keeping me calm in this panic inducing scenario, you could make billions. It’ll be the next Prozac.”
I took a breath. He still didn’t say anything.
Oh, okay, he was asking for it. I smiled. “Do you know anything about patent law?” Nothing. “I’m going to take that as a no. So, the protection of inventions actually has its basis in the Constitution in this country.”
Okay, there’s mine. Your turn to infuse those scenes. Happy editing. 🙂