sobbing - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
It was more than crying, it was the kind of desolate sobbing that comes from a person drained of all hope. She sank to her knees at the tiny grave, not caring for the damp mud that dirtied her dress. Her tears mingled with the rain and her gasping wails echoed around the gravestones. The pain that flowed from her was as palpable was the frigid fall wind and soon the only person at her side was her husband, struggling to keep his tears silent, looking up to the watery skies and heaven beyond. He had to believe his baby was safe up there, comfortable and warm. To look down would be to imagine her cold in a box,bereft of his cuddles and goodnight kisses.
Kevin faces the wall, his face creased and his fists closed so tight he can feel the sweat trapped inside them. That's when he hears a sound that almost stops his heart. From the other side of the room is a sobbing sound, like a small child who's lost his mama. There is no small child in the room, only his father, the man he just tore a strip off because he wanted more money. This can only mean one thing - his father has no more to give. He turns to face him only to find he has moved outside to the decking, hands grasping the rail, shoulders shaking and the sound of struggling to breathe against the crying.
"Father?" There's no response other than an intensification of the grief. "Father, I'm sorry. I asked too much."
Saskia had always been so self-conscious when she cried but now she just gave way to the enormity of her grief. She sobbed into her hands and the tears dripped between her fingers, raining down onto the parched soil. Her breathing was ragged, gasping and the strength left her legs. She sank to her knees not caring about the grit that dug into her knees. She was noisy, her skin was blotched but there was no-one there to witness it let alone come to comfort her. She could run a mile in any direction and not find another soul. She cried until no more tears came, but still the emptiness and sorrow remained. Dusk fell. On the first light of the day her still crouched figure remained unmoved. There was nothing left, nobody left, no reason to move.
Emotions swirled with the ice water circling the cold metal drain as streaks of fire burned his cheeks. Each new wave a hot trail of agony as slim, bare shoulders shook in each rake of emotion through his frame. Fire of shame and anger burned just under his skin and a deep emptiness filled his heart as the sentiments brewed over and boiled past the seams he could no longer hold together.
Breathing hitched as his knees grew weak and he slumped to the cold tiles on the floor. There was no hope for a man who cried to his death in the showers, drowning himself in his own tears of hell.
In Crystal's sobbing was the sound of a heart breaking. Hearts don't snap like brittle caramel or burst like an overfilled balloon. A heart breaks in the heaving waves of a new disturbing reality that has arrived uninvited. It is the one in which their child no longer lives, or their partner is terminally sick. It is entering a life they can't bear and so they break. They aren't the same again, there's just a part of them that had to die so that the rest of them could carry on their duties to the other people they love. So as I watched Crystal shake with grief, tears flowing unchecked, there was part of me breaking too. If she wasn't the same then neither would I be. That's what happens when you love someone, right? Their happiness is a part of your own.
When he cried there was a rawness to it, like the pain was still an open wound. He would clasp onto something for support, anything, a table or the back of a chair, and then his whole body would shake. The sobs were stifled at first as he attempted to hide his grief, then overcome by the wave of his emotions he would break down entirely, all his defences washed away in those salty tears. When he at last turned his face to Teela he was a picture of grief, loss, devastation. It was the face of one who had suffered before and didn't know if he could do it again. Then, just when she thought the breakthrough would come and he would trust her with his vulnerability, the shutters would come down, his emotion walled off behind a mask of coping. He would just wear it until everything was right again, he didn't know another way.
I'd never seen Rose sit like that, so deflated. Her loose shoulders shook, her hands hanging low, making no attempt to conceal or even wipe away her own tears. Aside from her reddened face she was so grey looking and her hair was as dishevelled as the park under fall leaves. I've seen others cry like that and in every case it was a transition from a person with hope to one without. It was how Terry cried when he lost his son; it was how Raj cried the day his wife passed. It's a kind of crying that shows the child underneath, that the hurt has cut right back through the protective layers acquired in maturity.
Red-hot tears ran down her face, each one carving furrows on the tender flesh that still
stung from her mother’s slaps, scars that marred her once-beautiful face
Tears running down my face, like the water flowing through the drains
Rubbing salt into my open wounds.