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(Descriptive Details is a post series on my blog in which I write little tid bits of short stories. In some ways it helps me practice my descriptive writing but in other ways it’s really just plain fun😉)

So I found a lil story draft intro that I wrote a little while ago. Here it is….

It was a dry and cold morning. The kind that nipped the air and made your nose red and frozen, but warm enough that the rest of your body could stay warm. Salamah sat in bed wrapped in a dozen blankets, attempting to conserve any body heat she could retain. “This is ridiculous” she thought to herself. “Just get up and go find a heater ya doofus. It’s not like you’re some homeless guy on the street in the middle of a polar vortex!” She turned over on her back so she could look at her vaulted ceiling. “I wonder how one would go about painting something like that” she thought. “Also, does the attic just have a weird pointy line running across the floor where this ceiling is?” she thought to herself again.

Salamah thought to herself a lot. She wondered about the world around her with a level of curiosity very few could adequately match. She asked questions about anything and everything, which unfortunately came to the annoyance of others eventually, so she learned not to ask too many questions aloud.

*Knock knock* Good morning my darling! How did you sleep? In walked her happy, smiley, sunshiney, mother Asra. Salamah smiled. There was a time during her angsty teenage years where that cheery and blithe personality would have set off a series of eye rolls and mumbles under her breath, as she would drag her feet to the bathroom. But today was not teenage angsty Salamah anymore. In fact, that was almost 7 years ago. Salamah was now 23 years old and what a world of a difference 23 was from 17.

“Good morning Omma!” (word for mother in Korean). I slept well alhamdulillah!” Salamah said with a smile. There was someting remarkable about her mother’s smile and morning comments that always brightened her day.

“Well I was thinking of making some omelets this morning, did you want some?” her mother remarked.

Salamah’s eyes opened wide, shining, as if someone had drawn 2 cartoon stars inside them. She really loved omelets , and especially her mother’s. As a “hybrid-latchkey” sort of kid, she valued any moment she could taste her mother’s own cooking as opposed to frozen meals or ramen noodles. Her mother chuckled seeing her daughter’s face and said “Well I guess I will take that as a yes!” Meet you downstairs?” And with that she walked out of the room, leaving Salamah back with her thoughts again, in the relentless, unforgiving, frigid room she called her own.