Hands - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Her hands were frailty and caution, shaking gently as she reached for the hot tea. In her movements were so much of the woman she was and still is. They were ashen where the sunlight caught them, not ghostly like a white person, just subdued and greyish. I think that's the first time I realized how vulnerable she was and how much of a toll the sickness had taken.
Darren, who liked best this part of the walk, gave a whoop and rushed into the tunnel, hollering for an echo and running his hands, like pale starfish, along the brick walls.
In the pool of light shed onto her lap, an exquisitly manicured hand guides a slender gold-plated propelling pencil across the lines of print, occasionally pausing to underline a sentence or make a marginal note. The long, spear-shaped finger-nails on the hand are lacquered with terracotta varnish. The hand itself, long and white and slender, looks almost weighed down with three antique rings in which are set ruby, sapphire and emerald stones.
The hands that once reassured me that my world was safe had withered to little more than skin and bone. The once smooth black skin was wrinkled and thin. He could no more hold my hand than feed himself, but I clutched at his weary fingers anyway, letting the warmth and softness of my own hands let him know I was there, that I was alright and that I didn't leave him alone at the end. In a voice I usually reserved for my children I told him the tale of the three anxious rabbits, the one he told me every night until I was "too grown-up" for it. As the story unfolded his breathing would stop for a time and then start again, gasping. When at last those rabbits had learnt of God's unconditional love, that their inadvertent sins were already forgiven, his breathing ceased. But I stayed to tell him the tale one more time, this time more for me than him, and as my tears rained down his hand grew cold. His fires had been extinguished. He had no need for these hands anymore.
Callused yellow, leathery, baby smooth, perfect nails with a french polish, nails bitten and ripped, skin frayed below the fingernails, raw and bleeding, hands the size of dish plates, dainty long fingers.
Mila was tense. Gabrielle was chattering like this man was clan but he was no more than a smooth talking stranger. While he charmed her little sister she ran her eyes over him to look for contradictions. His clothing was dirty like a forest trapper should be, his face was unweathered but then he was young. Her blood ran cold when she got to his hands. They were perfect, baby soft and smooth, like an infant. Nobody had hands like that anymore, people had calluses and scars, red welts from hard work and behind their nails was grime that no amount of washing in the river would shift. This man had never done a day's manual labour in his life. Then her training kicked in. She relaxed her face, unknitting her brows and changing her posture from "anxious" to "bored." Then she used the trigger phrase, "We have to go home now to help cook the 'supper'." She saw Gabrielle tense momentarily before she too relaxed her posture and quipped her line. "Only if I can have your blanket."
The doctor entered in green scrubs, her black hair tied low in a pony tail. Tina sat up a little higher to get a better look. She was Indian looking with large brown eyes, neatly lined in black. She had the lithe movement of an athlete and the easy smile of one visiting a dear friend. She spoke with an american accent and with her hands. With each word the fine fingers would flourish into the stagnant hospital air like birds, then settle as she listened to the answer like she had all the time in the world and nothing could interest her more than what Tina had to say. So this was her surgeon. Younger than she had expected but somehow she didn't mind anymore. Those hands were beautiful, precise, elegant. That night she thanked God for sending her such a wonderful doctor and slept soundly until the ward noise woke her the next morning.
Long fingers, blue corded with veins, gloved, bony, latex gloves, sweaty palms, clamped together, gnarled, perpetual shaking, clenched fists.