2.5 times the detail

 Write about a bald pale man at the beach wearing nothing but blue swim trunks. Is he standing at the sea with his hands to hips admiring the incoming storm, or is it something else? If the painting had more details we could see the goosebumps from the mix of wind and adrenaline rolling in. The flashes of lighting became too much, day had slipped into the night only until the brightest flash brought the man back to his senses. He turned to run only for the rain to pass in front of his feet, filling up the holes in the ground widening the sea until it became inescapable. The pale bald man found himself swimming hard using both arms and feet just to stay afloat in the personal riptide. His muscles burned internally and the water stopped from above and filtered through the sand below turning it to muck that gave way and fell even farther below. - 158 words

The air crackled with an energy that had nothing to do with the absent sun. A stark white figure stood silhouetted against the churning grey of the sea and sky. His bald head gleamed, reflecting the diffused light like polished bone. Only a pair of vibrant blue swim trunks broke the monochrome of the scene. His hands rested on his hips, a posture that could suggest defiance or perhaps just a strange sort of awe as the storm barreled towards the shore. Goosebumps prickled his pale skin, a testament to the biting wind that whipped off the water and the raw thrill that pulsed through him. The distant flashes of lightning intensified, each one momentarily bleaching the world before plunging it back into an oppressive gloom. It was as if day itself was surrendering to the tempest. Then, a particularly violent flash illuminated everything with an almost unbearable intensity, jolting him. The spell broke. He pivoted sharply, the sand cool and yielding beneath his bare feet, the primal urge to flee finally taking hold. But as he turned to run, the heavens opened. The rain wasn't a gentle shower; it was a torrential downpour, each drop a heavy weight. It hammered the sand in front of him, filling the small depressions, turning them into miniature pools that greedily expanded. The sea, already agitated, seemed to surge forward in response, the line between water and land blurring with terrifying speed. The ground beneath his feet softened, the saturated sand giving way with a sickening squelch. He was trapped. Panic flared. He plunged into the churning water, the initial shock of the cold quickly replaced by the burning strain in his muscles. He clawed at the water, a desperate freestyle stroke his only defense against the unseen currents that tugged and pulled. It wasn't just the storm; it felt personal, a malevolent force intent on dragging him under. The rain ceased as abruptly as it began, but the aftermath was a world transformed. The sand beneath the now-turbid water turned to a viscous muck, offering no purchase. Each kick and pull sent him sinking deeper into the yielding seabed. The personal riptide, a localized vortex created by the sudden influx of water and the shifting sands, held him in its unforgiving grip. His lungs burned, his limbs screamed in protest, and the vast, indifferent ocean stretched out around him, an inescapable expanse of grey. - 402 words

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