It has come to my attention that I have been sick (either fully out of commission or barely functional) from October 30 to December 20 of this year, which really puts a damper on both NaNoWriMo participation and Christmas preparation. Receiving a text message from my mother yesterday, “I have Influenza A!” helped put into everything into perspective, since I am quite certain she caught it from my father, who caught it from me, who caught it from my husband, or from my mother the last time she was sick, or from the sick child I babysat as I was already beginning to feel unwell thanks to something  I was exposed to in my once-a-week involvement with third-graders at an after-school program. I am still not quite certain how I managed to exceed 50,000 words during the month of November, (of which I am confident most will land on the cutting room floor), and I have already fallen a week behind my group of friends who are all participating in a writing challenge over at Frankie’s Wining Room. Nevertheless, I shall endeavour to post my entries for this writing challenge before attending to final wrap-up of preparations for all the celebrations descending in full force on Christmas Eve.

Without further ado, I present POV Writing Challenge #1:

A bitter wind swept across the water, carrying an acrid scent of decaying flesh and putrid slime to every unfortunate soul who suffered its ravaging blows. It hammered against every immovable building, wailed around every corner, and whispered through the seams between each mirrored pane that ascended into the atmosphere. Few braved the elements on this blustery Thursday, choosing instead to order in and have some other stalwart soul deliver lunch to them. Or by sticking close to buildings, they ducked from one low overhang to the next as they made their way to a nearby eatery instead of strolling to a favorite deli located a few blocks farther away.

Even fewer, while navigating the chilly brisk of oncoming winter, thought to turn their faces upward. The glare of the noonday sun, though significantly tempered by the overcast sky, still reflected brightly off the glass-and-steel highrises, whose sparkling surfaces were kept artificially clean by the employment of window-washers several times per week. The window-washers clearly hadn’t come yet today. Assuming they would come at all, the weather being what it was at present.

Had any thought to turn their faces toward the sky, they could have seen bright points of color dancing above their heads. On the bridge’s steel cables was a small bouquet of balloons, escaped from a passing vehicle bearing party decorations, or perhaps let loose by a young child who could no longer retain their grip on the ribbons in the face of prevailing wind. Innocuous and cheerful, dancing in the swirling eddies of air between each girder, they dipped and bobbed–and held suspiciously to their improbable location.

Lucy dialed and raised a hand to shield their connection from the wind.

“What’s the verdict?” Frank’s voice, focused and professional, enveloped her senses through the earpiece.

“Reroute the motorcade. There is a suspicious item on the bridge.”

Now it’s your turn. Leave a comment or send me a message to give feedback. Check out the writing challenge for yourself if you are curious to see how different individuals have approached the same material, or if you would also like to participate.

Until the next time…