I've written a piece in relation to a realistic image. Basically you had to find a 'realistic' image, and try to imagine what was happening, and construct a narrative around it. I've gone for First Person Point of View.
This was written this morning, after my massive kick to the guts re my confidence as a writer happened with the *pass* mark. So all feedback good or bad I'd appreciate.
I scramble to position; deafened by the sounds of exploding mortar and gunfire surrounding me. My commander is on the radio ordering up an air strike, we’re coming under heavy fire from insurgents. The heat rises from the ground with the sand and dirt that are in my eyes, and its thickness get caught in the back of my throat. Just breathing feels like I’m standing looking into a glass furnace.
I thought I’d cope with the heat, being Australian, experiencing long hot summers of forty degrees and above. But this is not heat; this really is the fire pits of hell. The temperature soars up into the high fifties to low sixties degrees celsius daily. The sun burns downs on you like a heat lamp that has no off switch. There’s no escape from it, not even in the shade.
I can smell fear amongst us all. This is no training mission, this is real. The enemy on the other side want to kill us, and it has become a kill or be killed stand off over territory. They are cunning fuckers, they know how and where to hide, how to blend in to the surrounds. They appear to have infinite weaponry, and they hit hard and fast.
Our air strike will take most of them out, but waiting for air support will be by far the longest two minutes of my life. I can hear a whistling sound as a bullet comes far to close to me. I bunker down, regain my bearings, through the explosions and gunfire around me and fight it out.
That's all I've got.