It’s 3:33 AM. The peach light of dawn will never rise again for today is the last tomorrow anyone will ever see. Rain pours down on me from the ominous skies, soaking me, the acid taste of rainwater on the tip of my tongue. The brutal, cold bench makes me uncomfortable and I squirm in my seat. Westwood Park was my favorite playground as a child and I realize with fear today would be my last day here. In the distance I spot the hospital, lights still on, people escaping both life and death. My fingertips grip the wooden bench with a panic. Mortimer Goth had warned me ages ago that the eventual ruin of Pleasantville was inevitable. Why hadn’t I believed him then? I sure believed him now. I began to count in my head; I was on lucky number 13. I hadn’t taken a single breath for 13 seconds. I yawned. The lack of oxygen, or maybe the exhaustion, was getting to me. Jigsaw’s trademark possession – keys, jingled in my memory. I pictured him running back to his lair, hidden somewhere amongst the dark alleys of the town. Zero. How do I count down to zero, to the end? I held my breath. The only way to escape the end was to stop breathing. Escaping life to escape death. With a thud my body fell to the unforgiving cement, but still I smelled the smoke, the fire.
This was an assignment. All words underlined came from a list I wrote with subjects such as taste, sound, sight, action, etc. We were allowed only one abstraction, and I chose fear. After the list, and after the summary, we needed a poem, but it’s almost the same as my paragraph, just not as good. I don’t write poetry very well. :] (Yes, Sims references because I was playing at the time.)