In the darkness and the silence, Keir sat
with teeth gritted against the pain racking his body. With each ragged breath
he sought to shift his focus from the agony of ribs that were surely broken. He
tried not to feel the ache in his head where his hair lay matted with blood
against his scalp. The cell’s damp seeped through his rags and into his skin
until he throbbed with the cold. He clenched his fists against the shakes that
possessed him and wished he could force them still.
Wordlessly he raged against the injustice
of it all, as though the anger could keep his life burning when all it really
did was waste his energy, hastening the end. Sudden tears stung the cuts on his
face. He would have screamed his fury and terror if he had the strength, if it
would not have been such a futile protest.
If you want to use a section that's more dialogue (and would technically break the one paragraph suggestion) take the 200 word limit as your guide. (BTW, this is from my YA scifi which I wouldn't normally post as it's not sfr, but it was the best bit of dialogue I had to hand for the example). This is the conversation between my young hero Gethyon and his grandfather.
He took a deep breath, uncertain where to
begin. “Who was it this time?” Gethyon’s expression hardened and Embar was
inspired to take a guess. “Dephon?”
The name earned an ephemeral nod, the
glower on Gethyon’s face deepening. Only the faint buzzing of the suspension
field above their heads filled the silence.
“What did he do?”
“He doesn’t like me. He’s always teasing
me.”
Embar raised his eyebrows in surprise, not
from the words themselves, but the fact that Gethyon had taken the trouble to
say them. It was his first real insight into the workings of the boy’s mind.
“You shouldn’t rise to it. He wouldn’t keep teasing if you didn’t overreact.”
“He’d still hate me.”
“‘Hate’ is a strong word to use. I’m sure
it isn’t that bad.”
Again, that look in Gethyon’s eyes of a
child wronged. Solar had never been so much trouble.
“What was he like?”
Embar started. “Who?”
“My father.”
The old man stared at the child. It was as
if Gethyon had read his mind. “I’ve shown you the recordings.”
“I know I look like him. But I’m
not like him. You think that’s my mother’s fault.”
