The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an oscillating electric fan set on medium.
He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.
She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.
She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs. Garrett Park
It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it to the wall.
The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.
From the attic came an unearthly howl.
The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you’re on vacation in another city and “Jeopardy” comes on at 7 p.m. instead of 7:30.
Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the center.
He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.
The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.
The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the period after the Dr. on a Dr Pepper can.
John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
The thunder was ominous-sounding, much like the sound of a thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a play.
The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red Crayola crayon.