Creative Writing Descriptions

I can’t recall the colour of your eyes, only that they were large and bright and humorous, like the two creases in the corners of your wide mouth, deep parentheses that deepen when you smile, which was often.

Smooth, pink, mottled cheeks, pillows of flesh that look like they would be warm to touch. No lipstick but soft raspberry coloured lips that you kept sealed when you smiled that made you look like you were always holding something back, laughter or a clever remark or a fantastic joke.

A smile stained my lips

Cerise coloured coat

There was an orange burn where the sun had been, and the mutilated animal shapes of cloud lay scattered in the tear of dusk.

As the tip of the sun was about to slip below the green hills stretching in layered curves along the horizon, the lake caught its setting light, and glittering streaks of mauve and orange squirmed across the black surface with the undulations of the waves like worms of celestial fire.

The cranes sliced into the sky.

The seat of the swing was swaying gently as if a ghostly child had recently jumped off it.

Unfinished hotels and apartments had been hacked into the mountains like a murder.

Front garden the size of a grave.

The funeral service was slower than a country bus, taking just as many detours.

The funeral was all black clothes and white waxy faces, every one of them with puffed red eyes.

Rotten flies, plague of flies, feverish heat, sickened trees

The morning sky is mostly cloud, deep steel blue-greys that mirror the hues of the highway. Everything is a muted shade, like a matt photograph in a dimly lit room, everything except the taillights that flow into the heart of the city. They shine like the first berries on winter holly: unabashedly brilliant, scarlet, hypnotic.

The early summer sky was the colour of cat vomit. Of course, Tally thought, you’d have to feed your cat only salmon-flavoured cat food for a while, to get the pinks right. The scudding clouds did look a bit fishy, rippled into scales by a high-altitude wind. As the light faded, deep blue gaps of night peered through like an upside-down ocean, bottomless and cold.

It’s like that feeling you get when you’ve woken up from a nightmare and you’re too old to go and wake up your parents.

But there are plenty more faces out there and I’ve got to move forward, but how can I move forward when I don’t know which I’m facing. That’s a John Lennon quote I think.

I can see where I want to be; I just can’t see how I will ever get there. For a moment I forget why I’m here, then I remember the argument last night: accusations, yelling, crying, slamming doors.

I want you to come and find me and tell me that I’m your person. I’m sorry, I know now that sometimes you think you want to disappear but all you really want is to be found. And all I really want is to be found by you.

Tears raced down her cheeks

She often shuffled around her cluttered apartment, her frame bent with age, with a watering can shaking in her withered hand. She would tip the water onto the already wet soil of the plants and talk to them kindly as if they were her children. Indeed, she had a plant for each member of her family and she cosseted them and sometimes asked for their opinions, listening carefully and then answering as if they had given her a considered reply.

On her return all she found was a dappled path, a muddy stick and a mitten. She had called softly for him at first as if it were a game of hide 'n' seek. Sarah stood aghast, not knowing in which direction to run.

Ice creams wobbled perilously over the cones and dripped down their small fingers as they melted; some munched on brightly coloured balls soft sugar strands that dissolved on the tongue sweeter than sweet and sticking to the teeth better than glue.

My sister always said that happiness is like a soda. It's sweet, fizzy, and doesn't last very long. You have to enjoy happiness before it goes flat. So I did the logical thing and drank soda every day so that I could be happy. Now I have cavities.

Everyone dancing like they'd forgotten how to stand still

The wedding reception had an open bar. The uncle they shouldn't have invited was celebrating the occasion by getting paralytic at the bar.

It was the festival of lights. The light was cast every colour by the tinted panes and Tina couldn't help but be reminded of candy. It was as if the lane was iced by the baker on the high street,

The Latin music was the heartbeat of the crowd and they swayed long limbs in time to the beat.

The dappled shade of the woodland trees had seemed so inviting only moments earlier. She had walked holding his hand pointing out the pale bark of the Silver Birch and the tight black buds of the Ash.

They had pretended to be steam trains and puffed along, their white "smoke" rising amid the cool late winter air. They had stomped in the stream, clouding it with silt and then constructed a dam of twig, rock and leaf litter. But she had wandered into the trees to collect some pretty holly for an art display and told him to wait right there on the path, to listen to the birds and draw in the mud with a stick.

It does not pound or sting, but alights on our faces like soft kisses of ice and runs down to drip from our jaws that are clenched tight to prevent the chattering of teeth.

It’s cold out here. I can feel my blood stream slowing with ice as heat leaches out slowly. My spine aches in the inclement.

The early morning fog looms as far as I can see, almost tangible, shrouding everything in a thick white veil, the light barely managing to penetrate the haze.

my footsteps are swallowed by the silence 

It wraps around me like a blanket, and everyday streets lie mysterious, hiding, looming out at me in their whitened haze, like images from some half forgotten dream. 

The breath of the tarmac is curling around my toes and the numbness is tangling itself around my legs slowing my pace.

Rain falls like stones. The wind doesn't howl, it screams.

Autumnal leaves become not confetti, but ammunition in the gale.

A jagged bolt of lightning ripped the sky in half and she began to run, wincing as each icy raindrop pierced her skin.

The gulls are tossed paper in a storm, flashes of white in the grey, tumbling as they struggle against the gale. Beneath them the sea rises as great mountains, anger in the form of water, turbulent and unforgiving.

total darkness prevailed as clouds thickened and the sky was stricken, blotting out the moonlight and stars. The wind arose to push the still waters to choppy, which morphed into mountains of angry waves.

The air became thick with salt, carried by a gale that could only sing a single note.

Shadows swallow the last rays of light, and thunder crackles through the air. Rain begins to pour furiously, drowning any sight of certainty.

The boat pitched and rolled like a frantic child thrashing about in the waters of the choppy and wallowing sea. Here and there massive crests topped with white froth charged through the sea. The immense receptacle of water pulsated with life and seemed to smile a mocking smile at the plight of the helpless sailors.