I made a challenge to myself: Write something that describe the heat of summer without using the word "hot". This is what I got after 50 minutes and a few Popsicles. Probably a ton of grammatical errors and spelling in this, but...it is so hot here.
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May. The scorching May of blazing sun and burning sky. The light outside my room window is so intense that I thought my eyes would melt just looking at it. I cannot withstand this torment of sweat and dizzying heat any longer. I need them. I need my salvation from this hellish weather, from this fire inside me: The popsicles...
I stand up, and slowly, but firmly, I walked. Walked like a faithful pilgrim reaching to the Promised Land. Step by step, I finally come to the refrigerator. If one stands at the gate of heaven, that person would probably feels what I feel right now, opening the refrigerator door and let the cool breeze washed over me in delight. But...my heart sinks in despair. It was an empty heaven. The popsicles are not here!
Then my senses heighten as I heard the wet sucking noise of someone eating...popsicles. I search for the source of that sinister sound. And what I found in the living room pushed me to the brink of insanity and rage. My cousin, lying on a couch with a fan on full blast directly at him, is eating my popsicles! The LAST one! The table beside him is littered with popsicle sticks, and he himself seems to be in a state of trance, joyously eating MY popsicles!
As if he sensed my furious stare, my cousin says: “There are still freezies in the fridge”. Such BLASPHEMY! How can those mere freezies quench my thirst for the holy popsicles? I spared the heretic from my wrath, however, as my mind has grown weary of the summer noon, and I need to find a salvation for my sufferings. Fast.
Then, like a sign, I hear the sound of music. The music of the ice cream van is coming closer, closer to my house. The childish, stupidly ridiculous melodies playing off the old loudspeaker on top of the van sound like the angels’ bells, calling me forward. I rushed out of my house, and within a few step away, were the van. An young woman inside looks at me and smiles. It is me, or there were wings and halo behind her? It doesn’t matter anymore. I dashed in front of the van in the blink of an eye, and buy my favourite 3 colours popsicle. It is here! My salvation, glittering under the maddening sunlight. There is nothing left between me and the relief of my agonies now. I consume the popsicle like a ritual ceremony, with passion and delight, I relish in the citrus taste and the coolness of it inside my mouth. I am alive!
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Over dramatizing normal events of life have never been so fun.
I didn't see the word "hot" once. Here are just a few nitpicks I found:
