accident - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
In Devon's haste to leave the laptop didn't slide as he intended into the padded computer bag. His grasp was too weak and it slipped, free falling to the slate floor. His hand shot after it only to grab at the air and instead he was rewarded with the sickening crack of hard plastic and on stone. There was no-way a warranty was going to cover that. Two weeks old and it was about as useful as a toy telephone, only heavier. He bent in slow motion to retrieve it, all eyes were on him in sudden induced silence. He was usually the kid to envy - smart, athletic, witty - but not one of them would trade places with him right now.
Mica turned to chastise her sister, she was not to wake up Mama! As she did so her backpack knocked into Papa's bottle of whiskey and sent it smashing on the tile before she could draw breath, let alone move a hand to slow its fall. The single malt ordered from Scotland for Christmas mingled with the dirt they had walked in from outside. Her sister's face fell, ordinarily she was glad to see perfect Mica in trouble but somehow she knew that the fall-out of this "little accident" would not be easily contained. Even if they had the money, which they did not, another could not be ordered in time. They looked at one another in the newfound silence, then mama called from her bed. "Girls! What on earth was that noise?!"
Mac was late to the scene having been en-route to his summer lodge when the call came in. Ordinarily he wasn't dragged into suspected accidents but the boss wanted this one handled right. The suspect was five, allegedly found Daddy's gun and decided to play cops and robbers with Mommy. Somehow it was all a little too neat. An unchargeable suspect and a father who gets the family fortune and custody uncontested, not to mention a tidy sum in life assurance. These things just don't happen in North Vancouver, guns aren't two-a-penny. But the GSR test was positive for the boy and apparently the blood spatter pattern is consistent with that scenario; the shot came from a low height and protected a child-sizes portion of the wall. Perhaps it really was just a big accident, perhaps he was just getting more cynical with age. But at the very least he'd make some charges stick over the unsecured weapon.
Simon strolled the aisles of the newsagents looking for envelopes. He had to send something snail-mail for a job he was quoting on. With a candy bar in his brown hand he browsed until he found what he was looking for; A4, white and self-sealing. On the way to the counter his phone buzzed, it was Amanda, hysterical again. She had woken to find him gone and panicked. When he'd promised to take care of her he's never imagined his home would become his prison. How could he take a job with her like this? He threw down the envelopes and stormed out. In moments he was knocked to the pavement, disorientated and bleeding from his lower lip. His assailant sat on his chest making it hard to breathe. There were sirens and a flickering blue light, then a cop pulled him to his feet. "Shop-lifting hey laddie? Drop the candy in this bag and place your hands behind your back. The street swam in and out of focus as the cuffs clamped onto his wrists. Then he remembered Amanda. He had to get home...
The moment between balance lost and impact was one Farley would be wincing about for weeks to come - reliving that precious second before his collar bone snapped in two and tore right through his skin, glinting white in the wintry sun. The pain had almost brought him to the point of blacking out, maybe it would have been easier on him if it had. As it was he lay on the stretcher aware of every jolt and bump to the closest point the ambulance could come to.
Everything Misha did was done one hundred and ten percent, he couldn't kick a ball without trying to send it into the stratosphere. I guess that's why he was our accident boy, always trying that little bit too hard. I lost count of the number of times I shopped for flowers and fruit to take to him in the hospital, but whether he's crazy or brave, that boy never backs down or dull's his ambitions. He's going to win or die trying, all we can do is mop up the pieces and help him mend.
The whole thing was just freaky, like a spectral hand took the cord and wrapped it around her neck. Jenny tumbled sideways as she pinned christmas decor to the ceiling and the cord went around her like a winter scarf. She was suspended for a second, choking, before anyone mobilized to help. I think part of our brains assumed it was some kind of bizarre nightmare or else a crazy television scene. Sometimes my mind can't help but create the alternate universe where she died, the one where we weren't there to help. When I do my heart becomes heavy like it wants to stop beating and have to snap myself out of it. It was an accident, she's safe, and morbid fantasies don't help.
Sometimes we say "There by the grace of God," but where was His grace the day Kelly died? Where was her luck, her second chance? In acres of pristine snow her unguarded head found the only rock. It should have been two metres or more under the white crystals with no chance to harm anyone. In my quiet moments I relive the ambulance ride, how they barred me from the resuscitation room and came grey faced to find me killing my own fingers to suspend the grief.