Not too long ago, I saw a Meme about how certain music genres would characterize a sentence in their different varieties: Country, Pop, Metal, and a few others I can’t remember. So I decided this exercise wasn’t just for musicians, but writers could do it to. I took it upon myself to give this a shot and use the same sentence that was the kick-off point in the meme. Here goes, and hope you enjoy!
Sentence: I saw a flower
Romance: The cerise-petaled flower fluttered in the wind, hoping desperately to catch the attention of the handsome cattail standing nearby. She’d had her eye on him for quite some time, and the sight of his strong brown frame always left her breathless.
Erotica: Rose opened herself to the warm, brilliant sun above, smiling shyly as she uncloaked her golden center, offering herself to the brilliant orb in the sky. Sun’s eyes gazed down, flickering with lust as his warm finger rays reached down, tenderly stroking over the tight bundle of pistils and stamens. The shivery pleasure radiated down through her stem and out of the roots that tethered her in place.
Horror: The purple Iris smiled her most seductive smile, one so diabolical that no human could resist touching her. She knew she was the death flower, as did the inky black raven who perched on the branch above her. He loved nothing better than a view of a victim, shrieking with pain, as they fell to their death upon touching the moist purple petals.
Steampunk: Abigail donned her goggles, gloves, and cap, and hopped into her new flying machine, a rather odd-looking, flower-shaped contraption resembling a daisy, outfitted with a bulbed compartment for a pilot and rider. The petal-like propellers, operated by steam, whirled round and round at a dizzying speed, sending the plane zipping through the air. Though she was a young lady, Grandfather would be so proud of her flying skills.
Sci/Fi: The battle between the Tiger Lillies and Pussy Willows raged on. A deep blanket of pollen covered the sky, choking anything that dared to breathe. The Tiger Lillies shot off rounds of bullets from their pistils and stamens, only to be answered by the horrendous bombs strategically launched by the cunning Pussy Willows. The after math would be terrible, with the carnage of dead flowers and buds all over the field.
Fantasy: Morning Glory flared her purple cape around her and glared at the sky. No more would Thunder and Lightning bully her with their streaks of terrible light and monstrous sounds. She pulled her leaves tighter together to hide the vial containing the secret light, it’s name so sacred it couldn’t be uttered aloud. She’d show them. A few simple magic words, and she’d open the vial.
