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You can ask me about any of these, because I had a three minute limit, and I know a lot more of what was happening in each scene, and behind each scene.
Smell of Fresh Mint:
The smell of fresh mint wafted through the air as she stepped out into the garden. It was calming, being outdoors, after the pressures of the family behind her in the house. She’d long thought that she might like plants more than she liked people, and today only emphasized that. It had been a long day of obligations and frustrations, and Diana was enjoying the retreat to the garden. She was rarely followed here, and she preferred it that way. The garden—the smell of the fresh greenery—was her sanctuary. She did not want to be disturbed.
Yellow Bus:
A yellow bus rounded the bend, light flashing off the row of windows. It was bright against the dark of the evergreen forest, and as the snow fell harder, you could almost hear the children inside whooping their delight. The heavy snows had meant an early release for them. The snow kicked up behind the tires and pasted itself to the back of the bus as it continued down the street—a muddy-dark smear against the bright yellow.
Someone’s Red Leather Journal:
Someone’s red leather journal had been left behind on the seat of the bus at the end of the day. It was much abused—much loved—by its owner. The pages were nearly filled with the idle thoughts and daydreams of the young girl who owned it. If the bus driver had opened it, he would have noted the neat script that covered each page—top to bottom, and to the very edges. There were short poems, stories, and thoughts from the day along with the daydreams. The girl was a Writer. The bus driver would have seen this—would have reported the girl—if he opened the journal. Instead, he tossed it in the lost and found, with the other mislaid lunchboxes and mittens.
Smell of Fresh Mint:
The smell of fresh mint wafted through the air as she stepped out into the garden. It was calming, being outdoors, after the pressures of the family behind her in the house. She’d long thought that she might like plants more than she liked people, and today only emphasized that. It had been a long day of obligations and frustrations, and Diana was enjoying the retreat to the garden. She was rarely followed here, and she preferred it that way. The garden—the smell of the fresh greenery—was her sanctuary. She did not want to be disturbed.
Yellow Bus:
A yellow bus rounded the bend, light flashing off the row of windows. It was bright against the dark of the evergreen forest, and as the snow fell harder, you could almost hear the children inside whooping their delight. The heavy snows had meant an early release for them. The snow kicked up behind the tires and pasted itself to the back of the bus as it continued down the street—a muddy-dark smear against the bright yellow.
Someone’s Red Leather Journal:
Someone’s red leather journal had been left behind on the seat of the bus at the end of the day. It was much abused—much loved—by its owner. The pages were nearly filled with the idle thoughts and daydreams of the young girl who owned it. If the bus driver had opened it, he would have noted the neat script that covered each page—top to bottom, and to the very edges. There were short poems, stories, and thoughts from the day along with the daydreams. The girl was a Writer. The bus driver would have seen this—would have reported the girl—if he opened the journal. Instead, he tossed it in the lost and found, with the other mislaid lunchboxes and mittens.
