Progressive Alternative Writing Exercises: Name that Emotion

Standard

if these walls talked, the secrets they could reveal would ruin a nation
– white house statue

Panties, shoes, half-full bags of chips, movers cardboard boxes, bras, empty bowls growing fungi, and miscellaneous papers of all sorts littered the stained tile floor. These items trickled out of the kitchen and into a hall cluttered with even more random objects. Along the countertop, which could not be seen, pots and pans toppled over over one another risking a crash unto the floor. Half eaten meals spilled out of their serving dishes, and what seemed to be ferret fecal droppings were scattered about. All the shades were drawn and curtains pulled close. A gentle breeze was denied access to the kitchen by shut, and locked, windows. And in the middle of the room was a small plastic table that housed heaps of trash, some of it once recycable. At that table sat a woman with red hair.

*

The counter sparkled with a sheen that could inspire constellations; which must have been difficult to achieve seeing how it was made of granite. Every spoon, fork, butter knife, carving knife, teacup, drinking challis, wine goblet, gravy boat, salad plate, soup bowl, and dinner plate had been attentively placed into a pantry made of cherry wood. The kitchen floor was spotless and the trash bin was empty. It was always surprisingly empty, and smelled of roses and tulips. All blinds were pulled up and the glass windows were wide open, allowing a spring breeze to filter into the home through the kitchen that already had the aroma of apple pie loafting about. A small, furry, brown and white and black dog sat next to their water bowl, tongue out and wet. Separating the kitchen from the living room was a massive red oak dinner table. Atop the table at each of the eight matching chairs set a small bouquet of flowers; a different color flower for each setting. In one of the chairs set a large, balding woman with impressive blue eyes.

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