gait - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Grandpa moved like a clockwork soldier at times, especially in winter. He said it was the shrapnel he got in the war, somehow the injury never fully healed. It didn't stop him though, he hobbled just as fast as the rest of us walked, often faster. I asked him once, about the day it happened, and his face fell into an expression I'd never have associated with his features before. Under that exuberant personality was someone more vulnerable than I could have guessed. He was in a truck on the way to the battle of el Alamein in Egypt, the side was only canvas. The fabric was no barrier to the metal shard and neither was his flesh. He spent the battle in a Cairo hospital, and likely it saved his life. He couldn't understand why he lived when so many "better men" died, he couldn't even speak the names of his fallen friends without bracing his face to stiffness. I never asked again. We talked about the town garden competition, about radio shows and runner beans. He'd earned it.
When finally she arrives her gait is halting like there's something wrong, she's almost walking right but there's something out of sync. Perhaps one leg is stopping a little short or maybe going long, it's so hard to tell. But when she turns and smiles all thoughts of inquiry flee, she isn't conventionally beautiful, but to me she's simply haunting.
The man's gait was uneven, like his legs were different lengths. He teetered as he walked, wobbling from side to side, with every step looking as if he were about to stumble.
His cowboyish gait was at odds with the Savile Row suit. There was a casualness to it that wasn't quite right in cloth so crisp. All that was missing was the gun and ten gallon hat. When he opened his mouth it was with New York accent and the hand he offered to shake was manicured to perfection, the skin softer than a baby. His face was one of upmost confidence, whatever game this man played he wasn't accustomed to loosing. He smiled like a long lost brother and shook Ryan's hand warmly with the perfect squeeze and eye contact. Ryan reciprocated, but never would he trust a man so perfect, as far as he was concerned the more perfect the image the greater the danger underneath. Everyone has flaws and quirks, if they had been polished right out then trust wasn't even an option.
Amber moved across the room like her leg had fallen asleep under Todd's weight. Hobbling like a woman triple her age her face was a beautiful cross between a grin and a grimace. The kids started laughing but she continued anyway, the kettle was whistling and she wanted her tea. What else was she to dunk the biscuits in?
From the shadows comes a form. I know it's Mark from the looping strides that almost look like a moon-walk. Somehow I think the gravity has been turned down only around him. I try to keep my smile on the inside only, he really wouldn't like his gait to be a source of amusement. For all his casualness he's paper thin underneath. He'd never lash out, only make a self-deprecating joke, but I see the hurt in his eyes the other's don't. It's a good thing too, a bleeding heart gets you nowhere in this town and I kinda like having him around.
When Sarah stepped out of the darkness of the alley, Kyler could see what his ears were telling him already. She was limping, the gait that was smooth only this morning was faltering and uneven. Her ponytail was ragged, loose hair falling over her features that contorted with effort. On her feet were only socks and her eyes were as they had been years ago when she knew her beloved Grandmother was no longer in this world. Kyler dropped his tool belt with a clatter on the already cracked concrete and with only a fraction of a second hesitation, he ran over to her, careful not to tread on her feet with his heavy boots. Silently she tumbled, giving him barely enough time to shoot out his callused hands. Even then her dead weight was almost too much to prevent the momentum taking her to the ground.
There was something puzzling in the man's gait, enough to send my hand to my holstered pistol just in case. It was like something was weighing him down on one side and his muscles were struggling to compensate for his lack of balance.
Gerry was walking like he had a snake in his guts. With each step he twisted in a way I could almost predict but not quite and the bizarreness of the gait was accentuated by his hands that moved freely like some poorly acted zombie in a B movie.