alone - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
For the first time in her life, she found herself alone. A huddled heap of ripped jeans and torn coats, she sat alone and utterly terrified in the darkness. The dark consumed her frail form. Her mother wasn't there to soothe her fears, nor was Thomas to tell her stories. It was just her, alone in a strange place with strange people.
The autumn brought forth an early evening, signifying the beginning of long periods of harsh loneliness and numb frostbite. You sit in the corner of dingy room, your back pressed against the cold tiles and hands shivering along the lined edges of the cracked bricks and fragments of hope. The state of raw abandonment will swallow your sanity whole; dawn by dusk you feel your reason slipping through your frozen fingers. You lay your head gently on the hard surface on the floor, puffs of warm breath threading out of your lips. You'd do anything to feel the radiating heat of another by this point. Eyelids fluttering shut, you allow yourself a quick smile. A nice thought crosses your mind. Maybe you'll be joining others soon, maybe if you just wait a little longer. Maybe.
He had come to the hut in the mountain for solitude, to escape everything and everyone. He had anticipated it with such relish. But now he was here even the fire seemed cold and he longed for some company. Being alone became an anguish rather than a salve and he soon packed up, heading for the buzz of the metropolis.
The kid starts to cry but I can't just rush in there. Better traps than this haven't gotten me yet because I'm cautious. I walk steadily toward the cold subway car and direct my beam inside. He's quite alone other than a small stockpile of candy bars and juice boxes. Wrappers carpet the floor like fall leaves and the smell of sewage is now more apparent. With wide brown eyes the child says "Mommy," and rushes forwards, wrapping his scrawny arms about my knees. Perfect ambush time, but none comes. I wait a full five minutes before sheathing my weapon and crouch down to get a look at this waif. He's beautiful, under those dried tear tracks is smooth black skin. His hair has become matted and his nails are overgrown. His clothing is dirty but high-end.
"Where's mommy?" I ask, hoping she's coming back, because to be honest I'm not the mothering kind. He points to a mound under the wrappers. I draw the knife and step forwards but she's been dead at least a week. Damn it.
The darkness swirled around her curled form on her bed, tendrils of inkling bleak reminders of her solitude. The silence echoing in her ears was the constant white noise that never shut up. Her head swam in the fire burning inside, the only smouldering embers of a time where there had been other presences with her, around her, in her. But now, the void had been slowly filled with a cold, howling storm of fear that refused to ever let up. She was completely and utterly alone in her mind, body, soul, and most of all, entirely alone in the world.
In this crowded ward I am alone. The day is broken only by the arrival of meals and medications, the visitors to other beds, the doctor on her rounds. There are faces and busy bodies but not one is familiar. Some are kindly, most are harried, and the air is punctuated with screams as those with broken bones must be moved. Some cries are softer, not physical pain but the anguish of grief. All these keen emotions around me and none of them to me or about me. I am one of life's smilers, it's how I greet friend, stranger or foe. It doesn't mean I'm OK on the inside. Not at all. My husband knew that, my sister and mother too, but they are gone. These nurses will sing my praises when they have reason to return. I'm "no problem," "a real gem" and "one of a kind." But inside I feel like the love I accumulated over the years is evaporating faster than the moisture from my weary lungs. I envy the flowers at my roommates bedside, but not because they are pretty. Though they are.
"What I'm trying to say," she said, "is that I was crying because I realized once more the suffering you had to go through, and I can't believe you made it out alive. Because I can’t take it, I can’t bear the fact that this world fucked you up so bad you can’t believe someone loves you."
“I can’t believe someone like you can love me, because I don’t deserve it,” he whispered.
“Let’s make things clear here and now: the one that doesn't deserve being lucky here is me. And with you I fucking hit the jackpot, so don’t tell me again that you can’t believe me, because you’re a fucking miracle and I thank the universe everyday not only for having you in my life, but for letting you keep going with the shit you had to face all alone.” She smiled, caressing his face. "You're not alone anymore. And you'll never be again."
The bond he had shared with her had been like a bridge out of his fortressed mind, it allowed him to set foot outside it's protective compound and explore the sun-warmed grass on the other side. Now she had gone and the bridge had been severed. Now, no matter how many people surrounded him, he was alone.
He'd never felt more alone in his life. If his family were just physically far away he could have overcome it with technology. But since the argument they were emotionally distant, angry, antagonistic to his point of view. Now they blamed him for his mother's mental deterioration and the chasm between them was simply too devastating to be bridged. It yawned ever wider with each passing day until he knew finally there was no going back and he would be an outcast for the rest of his days.
In the darkness the whole world could have blown away in a freak storm. I can smell the earth as if it's wiped clean, as if all the plant life is gone. My feet are bare, that's the only reason I know the ground is still there. Everything else has dissolved like it was never there at all, like the universe hasn't even begun, or perhaps it never was. In the darkness I can't get a sense that anything is important at all – life, death, pain. I want the dawn to come and kiss the land and remind this fickle heart that I'm not the only one here - that there is a whole planet of other sentient beings who live and love. But for now all I have is this starless sky, even the moon won't shine tonight. Perhaps she lies frightened, shivering, behind the unseen cloud.
The blizzard removes the illusion of my eyes. With sight I am not alone, I am one of many in the world and the world is full of interesting things to see, to touch to feel, to keep my mind anchored in time and space. But as the white flakes whirl around me in an angry vortex I am as alone as I would be in the bleakness of space and cold, so cold. I reach out with gloved hand to guide my way but it is swallowed before it has gone even a few inches. To save my eyes from the blinding white I must narrow them until they are almost shut, and all the while the wind rages without end, only reducing its ferocity long enough to gather the strength for another attack. All my heart can do is beat warm blood around my veins in a hope that the storm will end, all my mind can do is plan the most logical path to warmth, safety and to something more tangible than light and snow.
Saskia had always been so self-conscious when she cried but now she just gave way to the enormity of her grief. She sobbed into her hands and the tears dripped between her fingers, raining down onto the parched soil. Her breathing was ragged, gasping and the strength left her legs. She sank to her knees not caring about the grit that dug into her knees. She was noisy, her skin was blotched but there was no-one there to witness it let alone come to comfort her. She could run a mile in any direction and not find another soul. She cried until no more tears came, but still the emptiness and sorrow remained. Dusk fell. On the first light of the day her still crouched figure remained unmoved. There was nothing left, nobody left, no reason to move.
The necklace seemed so old, worth no value,
But she held it tightly in her wrinkled hand, string over fingers,
because worth, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.
Or rather the heart. Take away the sunshine, and every luxury,
But don’t touch the necklace. It could not be replaced,
And she would not let it out of her sight. When lonely or rejected like tonight,
she took it in hand, and was instantly connected to him – long gone from this world, but materialized by touching this jewel,
Memories flood of his giving the treasure,
at the birth of their only daughter.
Pains easier, harsh words hurt less,
Disappointment faced with that necklace in
her hand. She holds it now, sad
and listens to echoes throughout the house.
She drops the letter to the carpet.
Daughter and granddaughter can’t come - again.
I searched the untidy room for someone to speak to. Nobody was there. I was solitary, alone, forced to live in a bedsit of rising damp.
I am alone in this nightmare. I don't know who those other people are. It seems as though they are in the same boat as me, running away from the giant, butI have to befriend them. It's just...better.
They all say she lives a life of fantasy,
but all she's really doing is feeding off her sanity.
She lives a life plagued by vanity,
but she only wishes to enter her own Galaxy.
She savours her little humanity,
but she only wishes to recognise her own majesty.
They all say she's falling from reality,
but all she's really doing is keeping from her tragedy.
She's known to them as an ending novella,
but in reality she's her very own Cinderella.
Some people revel in the sensory calm that isolation can bring, and the creativity it can bring to life. For Jasmin, being alone was her worst nightmare. With nothing to do and no one to talk to, her deepest fears clawed at the base of her throat and buried themselves in her chest, quickening the gentle thud of her heart. Shutting out the plague of white, she drifted into a world of her own, memories dancing with fantasies until the line between them was blurred. She took solace in her imagination; a transient fortress that only she could enter. Escaping reality was the easy part. There was only so long she could hide before life started breaking down her walls.
No matter how much I screamed for help, no voice would come out ... or so I thought. In truth there was simply no-one left to hear, or rather no-one with the capacity to respond.
Seb felt as if the world used to kiss up against his skin and laugh with him, hold him – no longer. It was as if the world had shrunken away to leave a cold void around his skin, as if he had become detached from reality itself.
The sky was blue but everyone knew that white walked in between. James stood on the balcony looking out across the grounds, the green blocks of grass by shrubs and wedges. He watched the gardener go about his day to maintain the largest estate in the country. He had to do it alone, almost unassisted, and despite being a guest he couldn't help but feel bad. Lord William said it was because the gardener refused to accept help. That may be so, but it doesn't mean you should give it to him.
I stood momentarily at stone of my brother, eyes awash with tears, hands trembling. A month ago he was at my wedding - dancing, laughing... I am so very alone.