anticipation - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
I feel Harry's hand on my shoulder before he his close enough to reach, though when he makes contact his skin is cooler than I'd imagined. There is no hint of sadness in his eyes and so the news cannot be the worst. Before his lips have formed the words my legs give way and I feel his arms catch me, not pulling me up but ensuring I meet the ground more gently.
The anticipation was a nervous kind of energy. It tingled through him like electrical sparks on the way to the ground, gathering in his toes. Before he knew it he was under starters orders and he positioned himself on the blocks.
The rhythm of the waves became the markers of time, not that Sandeep minded. He stood watching the swells, the big one would come. With his surfboard clamped under his left arm he kept his vigil while others ran in for lesser waves again and again. He was dreaming with his eyes wide open, he was riding the wave of a lifetime as it curled above his head. The roar of the waves before him became the roar of his dream wave, magnified, sending his spirit soaring. He savoured the salty air, this was his place, his time. He scrunched his bare toes into the sand, he would be planted here until it came.
This leader is resting against the wooden pillar with a face of utter nonchalance, as if he were merely waiting for a bus on a spring day, apple in hand. He isn't slumped at all, his body is clearly too muscular for that, yet it is just as relaxed as his face. He's almost smiling - smiling as if something good were about to happen. The world falls through my feet. Good for him is likely bad for me. Very bad.
Saskia sat on the bar stool, head slumped onto her hands watching her mother season the fish. By the time she was done each trout had a belly full of onion and herb. Saskia could taste it already and there wasn't even the aroma of cooking yet. Her stomach growled noisily and she had to swallow back a pool of saliva. Mom's voice was like that teacher on Snoopy, "Waaa waaa waaa. Homework. Waa, waa , waaa. Grandma. Waa, waa, waa. Dessert" The last word seemed important. She raised her head.
"Ah, so you can hear me then." She slumped right back down again, it was just a ruse to get her attention. Dessert. She began to think on that idea a bit more. She could make one. What's easy? What has no chopping, peeling or mixing and is completely unhealthy? Mom was talking again, "Waa waa, waa. Your father. Waa, waa, waa. Messy room. Waa, waa, waa." The fish were in the oven now and the rice was steaming with spices. Dinner. She'd settle just for dinner. If only it could cook faster...
Gina curled her long fingers around the phone. Soon confirmation would come. The vials would be past the chain and onto the safe house. There's no way a stupid policeman-plod like Mac could follow it. By now he was likely just following clues to the first way-station, where he would find nothing at all. She strode back to the window, by nightfall this cat and mouse game would be over. She would have her father's medication any trail that could lead back to her would be "cleaned up." She glanced at the phone again, annoyed with it's silence. Calling too soon would show anxiety, not a trait she wished to advertise. She pictured the look on the detectives face when he realized he was outwitted...again, that he could chase them his whole stupid life and never get any closer. The grin faded as she glanced at the phone again. Still blank. She returned to gazing. Holding that box would be so sweet. Two objectives achieved in one blow.
As Gina waits in the dark of the abandoned warehouse, wrapped in furs, she bares the facial expression of one expecting a great gift. There is a hint of the victor in the smile surrounded by stiff cheeks, not the supple grin of a friend, but the joy of the enemy after the battle is won. By now Mac would be tied-up tighter than a Christmas turkey, how fitting. She ran her hand lovingly over her newly acquired taser, a gift from her new friend in blue. Something clean to start the proceedings with before her employees got to vent their frustration with their boots. No knives alas, it was better if he survived - even if his state was vegetable-like.
Everybody everywhere will be perpetually and constantly looking up, with a sense of loss and insecurity, with a vague stress of painful anticipations. By day the victor's aeroplanes will sweep down upon the apparatus of all sorts in the adversary's rear, and will drop explosives and incendiary matters upon them, so that no apparatus or camp or shelter will any longer be safe.
Found in Anticipations Of the Reaction of Mechanical and Scientific Progress upon Human life and Thought, authored by .