Instruction: Write a three-paragraph description of a person or a place. Show the reader what it looks like, smells like, feels like, sounds like, even tastes like.
It is not entirely pleasant. One moment I am safe and warm in the dark, and the next moment all I can feel was a sensation akin to having someone tearing apart the canals of my ears. Every single sound is suddenly amplified to a decibel level ten times higher than what I was used to. This is disconcerting since in the past few months, I have grown accustomed to living in the warm spherical room and its soundproof walls, all voices from the outside muffled. Panic grows in me. I can almost feel my eardrums beating faster by the second, matching the accelerating beat of my heart. Luckily, I find her voice among the many sources of sounds engulfing me. Her familiar, calming voice is more melodious with the soundproof walls no longer separating us.
But for a few horrible seconds, the cold of the outside pierces mercilessly through my naked skin, almost convincing me to crawl back to where I was, where warmth was. It doesn’t last long. As soon as she touches my wrinkly skin, a wave of warmth jolts through my body like electricity. She runs her fingertips all over me; rubbing my cheeks, caressing my head, wrapping my arms. I become aware of the very inch of my body only when she touches it. Her touch activates me, awakens me, but her smell is what brought me alive. My nostrils dilate as I greedily inhale her intense odor. At this time, my repertoire of fragrances is too limited to liken her smell to anything else. But I doubt any metaphors or analogies will ever do her scent justice. There is simply nothing else that smells the way she does. She smells like life.
Suddenly, I feel wet. Droplets of water fall on my cheeks and forehead. Her tears? They roll closer onto my gaping lips and enter my mouth. The taste of her tears on my tongue startles me. It is bitter, salty, and foreign. It scares me. I open my mouth wider and let out a loud cry. My tears prompt me to separate my eyelids and finally, at last, there is sight. Before sight, I see only brightness, so blinding and alien to the pitch blackness of the room. But now, I see. I see her. She is a combination of blurred bright and dark dots that slowly form into a shape. Slowly, I distinguish the contour of her face, eyes, and then her mouth – a hazy, curved line spanning across her face from cheek to cheek. Both ends of that foggy line are pointed upward. A smile.
Because I am born.