bruise - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
This spreading purple with yellow blotches is only the surface wound. The real one is within, that feeling of betrayal, that breaking of trust that is so essential to true love. For what we love, we protect, right? I know that in the moment you were reacting, locked down into your primitive brain, that when you come back to your senses, when you are responsive, able to use your higher thoughts, you are the one I love. Yet these wounds, the real bruises within, when they have healed I will seek safety with someone who has never caused me such pain, a person I can love and be loved by, sharing a bright and happy future.
In the light that flows water-like through the windows of the old bank I strip off my topmost layer. On each arm there are great purple welts that will only deepen over the coming week. Against my ghostly skin they are grotesque, but I know I am lucky not to have broken bones - then what would I do? I sigh and reach for my long sleeved top again. I look as beat up as I did in my early days of training, sparring with guys two heads taller and over twice my mass. At least they didn't go for my face, I don't need to be walking about looking like I came off worse in a fight. They aren't to know I dispatched three would be gang members in some stupid initiation ambush. I suck in a deep breath, it's been a helluva weird day.
Found in Darwin's Ghost - first draft, authored by .
Mac rose unsteadily to his feet, it was against doctors orders to be moving right now but he needed the washroom and he'd have to have both legs broken before he'd ask for assistance with that...He was startled to see a face glaring back that was more purple than any other colour. On impulse he reached for his gun, absent of course, and he felt foolish in his hospital gown. it was of course a mirror and his own beleaguered features staring back through swollen eyes. Between the wallops given by steel capped shoes his skin was simply grey. His nose was a new shape entirely and his head lumpy and mis-shaped. He tried to recall what had lead to this, how was it he was here and in this state. His last memory was of his wife kissing him before work. Then he noticed his hair, grey. Why was it grey? Nothing was making any sense and now he felt sick. Where was Rebecca, why wasn't she here to explain it all, to shower him in kisses and talk about her latest book?
Purple welts were scattered across her abdomen like a disease. It hurt to breath and she wondered if some ribs were cracked.
The bruise that had begun as a purple stain above her eyebrow had sunk into the socket itself, and so now it had the appearance of a black eye. In truth she'd caught it on some shelving at work. She was wary of how fast she explained it and her tone of voice. If she appeared anxious or spoke to quickly they might think she was a victim and cast suspicious glances at her fiance, Tom. If she took too long to mention it they might assume she was avoiding the topic and come to much the same conclusion. Today she was to introduce him for the first time to her Grandparents who lived out of state. Her reflection stared unhelpfully back at her from the mirror as she attempted to hide or diminish the mark with thick make-up.
she pulled her collar down revealing a dark purple bruise lining her neck.
“Mmm, breakfast of champions.” Sehun snarks. Jongin flips him the bird.
“It’s either this or air.”
Sehun pretends to contemplate it and Jongin reaches over the table to flick his forehead on instinct because he deserves it for being such a prick. Sehun can’t even make toast. As he draws back he notices how Sehun’s cheek has turned a nasty smudge of purple and Sehun notices him staring.
“It was my boyfriend.” Sehun says blithely, round a mouthful of toast.
“I hope he’s your ex-boyfriend.” Jongin shoots back just as nonchalantly. Inside, he’s ready to kill, but Sehun hates confrontation.
He’s like a hermit crab. You have to coax him out.
“There wasn’t exactly much time.” Sehun stirs his coffee absentmindedly.
Jongin stares at him from across the table, waiting for him to elaborate but Sehun refuses to meet his eyes.
“It’s really not that bad.” Sehun says instead. “You know I bruise easily.”
“Don’t make excuses for him.”
After the crash there was a sharp edged band of purple-black that showed where the seat-belt had restrained him. The air bags had prevented further injury, aside from some whip-lash. But all in all he felt lucky to walk away from a roll-over.
The bruise fades like the last petals of summer, kissed purple and yellow as the hue of my skin returns.