When it comes to fiction, what I really like to do is painting a scene. In my experience a good setting beats any kind of description. That's swell for me, because I dislike long descriptions and am a sucker for immersion.
So, here comes the first setting I tried to make. Go ahead, put on some music, lean back in your chair, and just read. Of course some of you will be put off by the lack of a story, but there's nothing to lose, right? Hopefully I can get you to feel something as you read. Please enjoy.
Serenity
Dusk had settled in, embracing the world like a soldier his faithful wife. The sun, in search of its bed, left the sky in orange. Orange, like the leaves whispering tearful goodbyes to the trees in the end of summer. Orange, like the parka-clad boy settled beside the pond.
He stared into the sun, defiant of its flame. The twilight ignited a glint in his ocean eyes, and he smiled. He put his ear to the rustling breeze; watched as it disturbed the surface of the water; smelled its warm intention but caught the undeniable hint of frost to-come.
Ripples pranced throughout the pond, scattering the vermillion sunlight. The water sparkled. The boy lifted his hands and, with the tiniest hesitation, removed his thick hood. A strong gust lifted drops of water and spattered them in his face. He couldn't help but smile, relishing the feeling of refreshment.
Above him, he could make out the silhouette of birds. Birds that barely flapped their wings, but rather soared as they submitted themselves to the whims of the wind. Freedom. Not because they struggled against the forces larger than them, but because they gave in to their guiding flow. The trees around the pond joined in, crying their leaves upon the body of water. Leaves that would surrender to the stream, creating tiny ripples of their own.
The boy sat down in the earth, feeling the cool grass. In less than a month all this would be covered in snow, and the pond would be frozen once more. They would all go ice-skating, sledding, and have a good time in the cold. They would soon, but not yet.
His eyes fell on the dragonflies that hovered above the water. He saw the pair of them, dancing around each other, swaying as one to an inaudible ballad. He imagined he could hear them; hear the chirping of their never-resting wings; hear them relay words of comfort; vows of unconditional loyalty; hear their dragonfly hearts beat together, like two halves of a soul finally coming together.
The winds relented, and the ripples in the water began to fade. The boy laid his weary head in the grass, having it tickle his blonde hair. He gazed up at the sky, which was starting to turn dark. A crescent moon was already present beyond the dusk.
The birds seemed to slow down in their flight, in perfect harmony with the stilling of the pond. The last stirs etched over the boy's body, comforting him like a mother's lullaby. The trees fell silent and he let out a sigh. He would always be worrying; worrying about what might kill him this time; worrying about the sounds of shattering glass in his living room; worrying about things a boy shouldn't have to worry about.
He almost felt guilty that he was allowing himself this moment of rest. Yet he allowed the guilt to be carried away by his new-found comfort. His eyes were heavy. The first stars broke through as the sun issued its final salute to his world. Tomorrow would be another day. Another day to worry. But today, there was only peace.
Sweet dreams.