giggle - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Ava's giggle softened the room, as if her gentle sound could make the lamplight more golden and the fires burn warmer.
Her giggle was a stone bouncing across a glossy lake, creating ripples of mirth where there had been none.
The giggle rolled about the room like a child's spinning top, vibrant and heart warming as it moved around the people in its chaotic way. It came in fits and bursts - loud to soft to nothing at all and back to loud again. It was as if there was an invisible feather at the little boy's nape brushing softly; he squirmed and raised his shoulders to hide the little neck he had. "Only a child can laugh so," Jethro thought, " but why shouldn't we all laugh so freely?"
The giggle was an auditory hug. It wended its way through the wintry air enveloping even strangers in its tickling embrace. Even the most stoic of the commuters on that grey train platform stifled grins. Beneath a sky that only promised icy rain and with a stressful day ahead that threatened to stretched into infinity before nightfall, that childish eruption of pure glee was the gift they didn't know they needed.
The giggle built up inside her like so much water behind a dam, making her shoulders shake and her belly hurt. When it erupted from her mouth it sounded more like a braying donkey as she fought to breathe and stifle the tears.
The giggles rolled out of him like the waves on a long shallow beach. They seemed to disappear for a while only to build up and break to the surface once more. He knew it wasn't manly to giggle but he couldn't help it.
He used to think he had a manly chortle, but it was a little high pitched for that. So he suggested that it could be a snicker, but everyone told him he giggled like a school girl.
The noise that burst forth was like a cross between a snort and a drunken laugh, Olivia never knowing when to breathe between the giggles. I can't say she had the most musical of laughters, yet it was always the medicine the rest of us needed to lift us on even the darkest of days. For in that sound was the smallest fragment of her spirit; I swear it soaked in through our ears and gave us the edge we needed to keep fighting for liberty.
Memories are often invoked by a fragrance, for me it is the smell of potatoes being fried in old oil - then I am at the seaside, shingle underfoot, fishing boats glistening in the afternoon sun. Yet for me the strongest memory, the one that feels most like being sunk into one of those alternative reality machines, is the giggle from baby Hans. It is more delicate than wind-chimes and just as chaotic, just as melodic. In those moments I have Clarissa once more, newborn, fresh, an unknown future before her. Then I dwell there, mind sinking into my own self-made delusion.