footstep - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The approaching footsteps have the wet sound of someone on grass; someone who has not learnt to walk quietly and instead relies on the verges to muffle their steps. Each footfall is chaotically spaced from the last, no rhythm at all. Whoever it is lacks confidence, is likely scared. They are neither a threat or of interest. I don't need anyone else to look after. In fact the sooner it's back to being just me the better. I leave - my footfalls as silent as the streets.
Whoever is coming up the passageway is either large and heavily armed or a gang leader who considers themselves untouchable. Whilst I slink in the shadows in soft soled shoes this person allows their footsteps to echo off the buildings announcing their arrival to all in a several hundred metre radius. I can never imagine doing such a thing. I prefer to sit back in the shadows, wait, assess. I'm curious to see who walks so fearlessly.
The approaching footsteps clip-clopped down the bleached tile hallway. I couldn't imagine a doctor wearing such impractical shoes, and I was right. As the clattering noise came to a halt the secretary poked her head around the corner to the waiting-room and beckoned me to follow.
There was a crunch of gravel behind me, not the kind of continuous noise you'd get from a rolling car, but the defined short crunch of a footstep. The darkness pressed in on me as I fought the urge to turn around. Then there came another crunch, this time lighter and slower as if the maker of the noise was trying to be quieter, to sneak up on me perhaps. I ran, each footstep scattering stones as it hit the driveway and sinking in like I was running in sand, each step pulling me down a little before I could spring forward away from my attacker.
Her footsteps echoed sharply around the deserted square, sounding overly loud in her own ears, like the booming heartbeat of a condemned prisoner.
Over the fall leaves each footstep crackled. Leona could tell even with her eyes closed something about the passer-by. Erratic steps were a child enjoying the music of their feet, tentative was a woman in smart clothing, clockwork-regular was a man on his way to work. The slacker paces were the walkers, often with a scattering sound that gave away the presence of a dog. Even without her sight the world was a rich place to be.
The compound should be empty but echoing down the concrete walls are footsteps. Eli takes the safety off his gun. Anyone down here should at least be sneaking, but they aren't. Each footstep rings out like a church bell on a quiet Sunday morning, rudely awakening the Saturday night revellers. How could someone come here so bold? From around the corner walks an older man in a simple shirt and shorts, no weaponry, his boots falling loudly with each step...
The footsteps on the sidewalk aren't so strident this morning. Without even looking down Macca knows the ground is icy, the passers by wobble every few steps before correcting their balance and moving on with newly composed faces.