sitting - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The woman is sitting prim in an old winged armchair, legs crossed and fingers intertwined over one knee. She leans forwards and watches the boy on the floor, still in his bright red sweater. He's stacking colourful bricks until they tumble, then he giggles and claps his hands before starting over. "He's unusual you know," she simpers, "most kids cry when the bricks fall, or they want you to come help them." Then she turns her amber eyes on me, "you can go now." I've been a trader too long not to pick this one apart. She's tense. Her smile is taut and there's a slight tremor in her cheek. When her eyes fall on him they are the same as Jack's when I pull out candy for a fresh meat trade. It's greed. Tension and greed. Then the penny drops. He's a commodity to her. She's a front for the kidnappers. I move gently toward him as if for a goodbye hug, she's not to know it's not the sort of thing I do. Once he's in my arms she drops her pretence and moves to block the door.
Found in Darwin's Ghost - first draft, authored by .
She sat, legs outstretched on the warm and sun-scorched August grass, leaning on her skinny toothpick arms attached to wide bony hands with long splayed out fingers. Good hands for playing the piano as her mother so often reminded her.
Near the same tree two more bundles of acute angles sat with their legs drawn up. One, with his chin propped on his knees, stared at nothing, in an intolerable and appalling manner; his brother phantom rested his forehead, as if overcome with a great weariness; and all about others were scattered in every pose of contorted collapse, as in some picture of a massacre or a pestilence.
Then he sat down heavily in the easy chair, seemed almost to fall into it.
She slouched in the desk chair as she typed. Occasionally she would catch herself doing it and straighten up, pushing her shoulders backwards and the small of her back upwards and in, sitting taller, more erect. She told herself that she didn't want to wind up as some hunch backed old lady in a few decades time, but within a few more minutes of typing she had forgotten and resumed her slouching posture.
She sat so stiffly and with such a straight back that she gave off the impression of being a particularly strict school mistress, an impression not helped by the way she wore her hair pulled back severely into a tight and twisted bun.
She sat with all the grace of a sack of wet cement. Her body seemed to conform to the shape of the easy chair, even her face seemed to slacken and sink as if pulled by invisible strings gently downward.