Matt Brooke :
It’s like the hair of my hamster, it’s squishy like a banana. It’s got a hard bit at the top, like a house on a planet of emptiness. No, wait! Two houses. It’s as though I’m at home testing the plums. It’s rough like the bark of trees. It’s as if I’m holding a tennis ball, about to serve. It smells like the market in France, when my brothers and I collect fruit for breakfast. It smells like my baby sister’s room. It’s like a small egg with hair. It’s rough like the sand of Oman. It’s like a sand ball just waiting to be thrown. Oops! I’ve made a tiny crack in it, like the desert on flood day as the juice sweeps around the thing. [kiwifruit]
William Wood :
It’s like smooth particles of glass or broad sand on a beach. It’s something lovely and smooth, like marbles. It’s getting sticky, like your hands after eating sweets. It may smell of nothing but it’s so good you’d go swimming in it. [rice]
Tara McCormick :
It’s as smooth as this soft, creamy table, as cold as ice, just out of the freezer. It’s scrunched up like a ball of paper carelessly thrown in the corner of a room. It’s hollow, like a paper-thin wall. [crushed can]
Harry Johnson :
It’s fluffy, like a cloud. It’s like the end of a soft paintbrush. It feels like a pom-pom. It’s a duvet wrapped around you on a cold rainy day. It is weightless almost like a feather, but lighter. It is the building blocks of heaven. [Cotton wool]
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