Show, Don’t Tell

Hannah Thornton

1: Striding into the room uncannily resembled wading into a hot tub on a cool day. My skin felt engulfed, boiled, and immediately enflamed with heat as it threatened to spill sweat. I pinched the collar of my shirt and fluffed it up and down, blinking like I’d been hit in the head.

2: “You’re just really, really not good at this,” John said matter-of-factly, his angular brows raised passive-aggressively with a condescending shake of his head. “Honestly, the club is pathetic this year because of you.”

3: Nausea churned in Clem’s stomach, and although the room was bustling, Clem could focus on nothing but the burning, cramping, and pinching swirling in his gut. He swallowed and scrunched his nose as a headache bloomed in his temple.

4: Dana hooked one arm protectively over her belly as obnoxious growling whale sounds floated about the classroom. Her stomach was so vacant it was surely about to start eating itself. She cringed as her hollow insides whined in protest.

5: She never directly said it, but Grandma’s narrowed eyes and upturned chin showed me minimal affection. “Sit up straighter,” she barked in her sandpaper voice, and I hastily obeyed.