Hear, Taste, Smell, Feel...but don't See!

A slightly more avant garde assignment, my writing teacher asked us to go somewhere and experience our surroundings without the use of our eyes and then to write about it only using our other four senses: hearing, taste, feel and smell. The approach I took in writing this piece was quite abstract (for me) - can you guess where I was? Extra points to anyone who can identify what each sound represents.

Sensory homework

Damp yet not musty. Humid but sans elbow sweat. A subtle, chemically clean aroma in the air. 

“Clop, clop, clop,” comment the footwear crossing the tile floor. Pausing, listening to the rhythmic beat, “Slap, pause, slap, pause, slap, pause, slap, pause, slap, pause, slap, pause, slap, pause.” Silence. One, two, three, four, five…and then repeat. “Slap, pause, slap, pause, slap, pause, slap, pause, slap, pause, slap, pause, slap, pause.” Silence again. One, two, three, four, five…and then repeat.

A new beat begins, “wallop, wallop, wallop, wallop, wallop, wallop,” a quick and clamorous cadence followed by a winded break. “Wallop, wallop, wallop, wallop, wallop,” launches again.

“Clop, slap, wallop, clop, wallop, slap, wallop, clop, wallop, slap.” While not cacophonous or quite harmonious, a symbiosis ensues.

The humidity caresses the skin, ill prepared for the sudden mutation. An instant later, swathed in a blanket of breeze. “Slap, wallop, wallop, slap” intermittently becomes “Swish, crash, crash, swoosh.” Replacing “Clop, clop, clop,” a steady “strike, strike, swoosh, strike, strike, swoosh”.

“Strike, swish, crash, swoosh, crash, strike/ swish, crash, swish /swoosh, crash,” the rhythm is muddled.

Warm velvet tickles, transformed from the former blanket of breeze, incubate while the melodious “strike, strike, swoosh, strike, strike, swoosh” keeps time. The only interruption an unexpected intruder, acrid and sharp tasting, quickly discharged. The beat goes on.

“Strike, swish, crash, swoosh, crash, strike/ swish, crash, swish /swoosh, crash,” a stride is hit, maintained, elevated almost to a sweet refrain. Abruptly, an intrinsic component of the tune is gone. “Strike, crash, swoosh, crash, strike, crash, strike, crash,” a melody changed. Without time for adjustment, “Strike, strike, swoosh, strike, strike, swoosh, strike, strike, swoosh,” the lone survivor.

“Strike, strike, swoosh, strike, strike, swoosh, strike, strike, swoosh, pause.” Silence. One, two, three, four, five. “Strike, strike, swoosh, strike, strike, swoosh, strike, strike, swoosh, pause.” Silence. One, two, three, four, five. “Strike, strike, swoosh, strike, strike, swoosh, strike, strike, swoosh, pause.” Silence.  Hoisted up, the velvet tickles ripped away momentarily exposed but quickly met with a comforting reprieve. Snuggly engulfed, “clop, clop, clop” sounds the retreat.