I missed posting my six sentences these past couple of weekends due to circumstances beyond my control. I'm now in the final stretch of writing my novella, and I'm excited by what I've learned about my characters. I write mostly by the seat of my pants, thought the synopsis I start with covers the basics of the story. If I'd outlined my plot beforehand, I doubt I'd have known then what I know now. And I love what I know now.
He didn't squirm or yell, even when I used a bottle of water to clean the blood away, and then antiseptic to sterilize his wounds. There had to have been more than a dozen, but none were especially deep. The powerful muscles of his back rippled as I plucked the offending shards from his tan skin. My fingers skimmed lightly over his flesh and he shivered.
"Tickles," he mumbled into the pad where his face was buried. He didn't laugh, but his tone was matter-of-fact, as if stating what time it was or pointing out the color of the sky.