scared - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
I am scared. So scared. I've been there for you so many times and won. I've saved you over and over, but right now the forces converging on your position have me out-gunned. I've never asked you to defend yourself, pacifist that you are, but please, please, open your eyes and see what's coming. I know you'd never fire a single shot to save yourself, but it won't be just you they take down. If to stop you they need to attack everyone you love they will. If they take you first they'll go after them afterwards out of vengeance and a desire self-preservation - removing the risk of you being avenged. So please, please, don't bury your head in the sand this time. They know where you are, who you are, who loves you... and that's my guilt right there... If you didn't love me they would have never made you a target. I'm sorry. But there it is. Help yourself, get out of their line of fire. You know what to do, you just need the courage to do it.
The fear sits on me like a pillow over my mouth and nose. Enough air gets by it, allowing my body to keep functioning, but it's crippling all the same. I walk, I talk, I smile like I always did, but my insides are dying slowly. There isn't an adult I know who could handle this, the chance that every day someone their size or bigger could attack them with or without a weapon - but that's what I am told to do. My attacker has a "diagnosis" and all I have are my feelings. If I say the right things, do the right things, she won't attack me says the counsellor. I wonder how that would fly in the teacher's lounge - "Here is your new colleague, teacher X, if you talk to him in a certain way he won't violently attack you." Can't see it somehow, can you? So as I smile, as I do all the things the teachers tell me to do, my mind searches for a way out of the pain and fear. I am scared, justifiably so, yet it is I that am told to amend my ways.
Once again fear found her. It spoke to her in its cackling voice. It told her legs to go weak, her stomach to lurch and her heart to ache. Lucy’s mother once told her that there was nothing to fear but fear itself, but still she could not silence its voice.
I have imagined holding you so many times, but now more often that not I find the future I seek is an empty shell. Things have changed so much, so fast, I worry that I won't be able to control the ending of our story. As we approach the climax the characters refuse to behave, each of them seeking to be the protagonist instead of accepting their role as side characters. They see how things will pan out with you and I, leaving for some place better, a place of peace, and they hate us for it. And you want to stay here to save them? They'll kill you if they think it's to their advantage and celebrate your "sacrifice" for a thousand years or more. Isn't that the definition of a savage? You aren't like that, you never have been. So I'll ask you again, will you let me take you out of here? Because if I can't save you, I can't save me. Safety without you would be worse than death.
Gina says she isn't scared but I see her body movements are tighter and her appetite reduced. Her smiles are shorter and silences longer. She finds things to do that don't need doing and ignores the important tasks. So I invite her to the coffee shop, my treat. I need to hear what's going on in her head first hand, perhaps then a solution may appear.
Darwin's feet don't touch the ground all the way home. They dangle in the cool air as he waves his leaves like flags. Once inside I drop him more roughly than I mean to and go straight to the vault. Payment will be have to made in full once he's in bed. When I return, still ashen faced, he is dancing around scattering fragments of red. He starts to sing. Something inside me just snaps and when I speak my voice bursts through more fiercely than he's ever heard before. "Fifteen tins and aspirin! Next time the answer is no! No walk! No air! No light!" and I put the goods on the floor with a bang. I catch my face in one of the convex mirrors, distorted more by fear and anger than the curve. I look back to Darwin. His eyes are flooded with tears and his little legs are going up and down like a wind-up doll. He holds out his hands, leaves forgotten, and says "Mom." At first I think he means that corpse in the subway, but then I realize he means me, and I've scared him more than anyone.
Found in Darwin's Ghost - first draft, authored by .
His palms were sweaty and the adrenaline coursing through his system was shutting down his ability to think logically. He wanted to run or beat the living daylights out of him, either would do.
The adrenaline floods my system like it's on an intravenous drip - right into my blood at full pelt. I think my heart will explode and my eyes are wide, letting in every ounce of the fading light. My body wants to either run fast for the hills or work to find weaponry, but instead I stay right where I am. Sometimes freezing is the best of the choices, and let's face it, there really are only three. I want to quell the hammering in my chest, but there's no way that will happen now. I don't regret it though, coming here to the compound, it was my mission after all. How come all those spies in the movies weren't ever scared? Maybe they were, maybe they were scared all the time, perhaps that's what bravery really is. The compound lights come on, unusual for this time of night. My adrenaline surges so fast I almost vomit, I can taste the saliva thickening my my mouth to a rancid paste. At some point I'll have to move. In the shows I watch there is an earpiece that says, "Go" or at least some tactical information, but with the new technology the enemy has developed it's just not an option. All I get is a black jumpsuit and meal ration...
Color drained from his face, as white as a slice of bread, white as a ghost, white as a sheet, rigid, rooted to the spot, frozen, clammy, cold sweat, shaking, stammering, unable to speak, wide eyed, edging backwards, hands clenched, white knuckles, vomit, faint, adrenaline rush, running, heart in his throat, heart pounding, too scared to comprehend, incapacitated with fear.
And each night she cried with great exertion. Tear after tear that made no difference, and in the morning carrying a vigorous desire for never giving up she went off heedlessly looking for happiness in the same place she lost it. Oh how stupid she was...
Unconscious to the abundance of her feelings that subjugated her and drove her crazy. Was she just supposed to seek closure in the ideas that one day before our labours turn to dust the pieces will fall into place, the idea that mosaics are made out of broken pieces and still they come together as a resplendent work of art? And until then laugh hysterically at the confusion it brings?
Oh how bewildered she looked, so doubtful and quizzical. So reluctant to facing the real facts although she knew one day she would face no choice, for she was trying so hard to stop the vicious, secular things her mind was already turning them into ... She was only beginning to know him and already she was overwhelmed by all she knew.. ."He tried to open up to me" she said, "but I already knew too much." So frantic of the deceitfulness of the forthcoming actuality. And each time he parted his lips to speak she said "I would tremble and shiver, then look at him with pleading eyes. Hoping just hoping not to hear the words that without doubt spill salt into these open wounds of mine".