A Story in Technicolor :: Short Story Creative Writing

A Story in Technicolor Standing waist-deep in saw grass, a flawless graysky framing an unrealscene where river and reeds become indistinguishable,Karen gazed unimpressed. The sublime natureof this ecological experience bordering so unbelievably close to herown urban existence did not seep into her mind or psyche. Perhaps the seven applications of gel she had put on her hair that morning in order to prevent as much frizziness as possible was impeding the correct reaction, but that's not likely. Much more probable is the inference that Karen was not an outdoors type of person, in fact, only the most serenely beautiful sunsets ever tempted her to hike outside, and the Everglades with its apparently monotonous landscape was not making even a dent of an impression. Not to mention that it was raining, ruthlessly pouring down on her and the rest of her class, making her gel effort of the morning practically useless. She wasn't even really standing in the saw grass; it felt more like she was imperceptibly sinking into the mucky bottom. Sure, she might imagine that she could move around on the spongy surface but, in truth, she knew that if she remained immobile for more than a minute, the earth would commence to slowly swallow her, drowning her inch by inch. She moved around uncomfortably. Always acutely aware of her lack of balance, ever since a ballet teacher had pointed it out to her, Karen now felt as if her woman-child inadequacies were on full display. Her eyes darted sloppily around to see if anyone noticed her ineptitude in the new terrain and quickly looked down as she realized they were all too enthralled in their own conversations and eloquated experiences of nature to pay any mind to her. "Isn't this great?", she heard one girl say. "I can't believe all of this is so close to where I live and I'd never been here before. There really should be more educational awareness programs. I wonder why I was never taken on a field trip to the Everglades? Wouldn't it be challenging if our school became involved with primary schools to†¦", whether this curly-haired speaker went on a diatribe in response to the first girl's remark or simply for the sake of talking was beyond Karen. She lost interest rather quickly in their conversation and rather unstealthfully moved away from them, refusing to hear the rest of the genuinely exciting questions and remarks.