gargoyles - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Tyler dug into the freshly ploughed field with his finger tips to prise out the odd looking stone. It came up with ease and sat heavily on his open palm - a perfect rusty sphere the size of an orange but pitted like the moon. He tried to toss it from one hand to the other but as soon as it left his hand it fell directly back to the damp earth, half burying itself again. It was a cannon shot, no doubt a couple of centuries old. He doubled over to pick it up and this time cradled it in both hands as he made his way over the rutted surface.
Hayla eyed the gargoyles - monsters in stone. What a mercy it must be for a monster to be frozen like that, to have the rage and hatred erased, made still for all time. They were faces that had never known love and feared it, struggled against light and fled to darkness. That must be what it is to be a demon. To extinguish such a thing isn't cruel but kind. In the air fragranced by the yew tree, she pondered if that is why they were cast onto the church, to show that extinguishing cruelty was a positive thing, that there could be no guilt in killing the monsters of our nightmares.
The gargoyle stared down in the fading light, eyes bulging as if the hatred behind them was about to burst forth. Lee stuck his tongue out at the cold beast; it could only inspire fear if he let it.
The gargoyles became elaborately carved in rose-colored stone and marble, not river clay fired in a coal grate.
In the fading watery light of the spring day, the gargoyles clung to the shadows. Crouched high on the church, crumbling and adorned with lichen, they were crafted to be grotesque. Eyes bulged, over-sized ears were unnaturally pointed and the grins evoked notions of sadistic pleasure. Hunched, disfigured and leering downward toward the parishioners they were as cold as the demon's hearts they represented. But when Edina looked up in the half-light of the evening, they simply reminded her to guard against the blacker parts of her nature; that we all have a little demon inside and it's up to us to keep it as impudent as those gargoyles.
Above were the gargoyles, embodiments of evil from the nineteenth century mind. On their lofty perches these stone caricatures were exposed to the worst of the British weather and showed signs of the relentless seasonal freeze-thaw. It was hard now not to find them amusing, but long ago when demons were feared and the spiritual world was tangible to the masses, I can quite imagine how they inspired the flock to speed up their walk into the sanctuary of the church.
In the semi-shadow of the gathering evening the gargoyles took on a menacing look. Whereas in the daytime they were merely sculptures of stone, cold and lifeless, in the encroaching darkness they took on their demonic stare, conjuring up the ghouls of the graveyard around them. The trees seemed to whisper to them in the cool breeze that whipped around me, conspiring with the gargoyles to raise the dead that lay about me whichever way I turned. I broke into a run.
The judges of the appeal panel stared at me like so many stone gargoyles on an old church. I'm sure if I could look closely enough there'd be some lichen on their crusty old faces. Even their voices were grey.