The hinges of his jaw creaked as he grinned, his sallow skin twisting into that same dead expression my nightmares loved to remind me of. A row of unnaturally gray teeth glinted from between his wooden lips, shining like frog eggs. I shivered.
“What’s the matter?” Even his speech sounded like rusty nails. “Afraid of dolls?”
Yeah, I thought, swallowing hard. Yeah I’m afraid of dolls, no thanks to you.
Beady eyes glinted back at me in the dark, all-seeing, more aware than I dared contemplate. He didn’t stop smiling.
The lid creaked as she pried it apart. A smell like dust and cedar enveloped the little box, and three folded papers greeted her wandering fingers. Special words, the greatest of her life. Last words.
there are hinges everywhere. Body hinges, door hinges, shoot…jjust hinges. Why would someone make hinges? They were probably tired of moving the stone from the cave. Who knows. Quite Frankly, Im just glad that
The hinge buckled and the soggy wood shed into soft splinters, peeling away from the frame. The opening revealed a room cast with blue underwater light that webbed through the verdant vines on the warped windows. Cracks threaded through the stone floor seeping monastical indigo ink that saturated the air with a thick silence. I lit a candle and like a flower it bloomed quickly and then died, leaving a withered curl of velvety smoke.
I shoved the door open and it swung back and forth on it’s hinges, making eerie, uncomfortable noises that rang out through the eerie, uncomfortable night. I immediately regretted the action when three pairs of glowing white eyes trained their sites on me and stealthily made their way through the dark. Fear pounded in my chest as I realized that the door behind me had closed, and that the chances of my escape from the mercenaries were slowly dwindling.
The door rattled on its hinges, but didn’t otherwise budge. He could hear her shrieking behind it, could hear her being torn to pieces by the thing they’d unwittingly trapped in there with her.
“ERIKA!” Gav screamed as loudly as he could, pounding his fists against the wood and wishing someone would hear them and break the salt line before it was too late.
The battered door creaks as the rusted, old hinges slowly turn to open it. I remember as a child I would dash through the house and slam the door with youthful vigor. As time wore on the door remained bruised from my childish insensitivity. The hinges stayed loose and weakened from my nuisance. Now I understand the old door’s dilapidated state, bearing two hinges that have survived through not only my harms but the world’s harms as well. As the house collapsed many years ago through a natural course of aging. The wooden walls and beams had rotted and the weight of the roof could no longer be raised. So it fell. Yet even though the house now lays in perish, the damaged door still stands. The hinges still uphold it with every grain of strength left within them. It’s impeccable that a lesser form of cruelty can mold anything into something that can outlast merciless anguish.
It’s the thing that makes going through a door possible. And I want to. I want to go through doors. Sometimes I am afraid. And I want to stop being afraid. The hinge is there to close any door I should not go through, so if the door is open why not just go ahead.
the hinges squeaked as I slowly opened the door, afraid to see what was inside. I don’t know what I expected to see that scared me so, but my imagination must have been in overdrive because my heart was beating like the drums in a hard rock song.
I am beginning to come unhinged. I am not responsible for my emotions. I am a dam, broken from the center, water falling downward, not responsible for the wreckage it is causing in its destructive path. I wonder how it feels to be in control of your emotions.
She slammed the door in his face.
She was done with him. Forever.
And ever. Her mind was made up.
He would be banished from her life.
The door hinge was broken, and the door
slowly began to open again.
His was still standing there.
The battered door creaks as the rusted, old hinges slowly turn to open it. I remember as a child I would dash through the house and slam the door with youthful vigor. As time wore on the door remained bruised from my childish insensitivity. The hinges stayed loose and weakened from my nuisance. Now I understand the old door’s dilapidated state, bearing two hinges that have survived through not only my harms but the world’s harms as well. As the house collapsed many years ago through a natural course of aging. The wooden walls and beams had rotted and the weight of the roof could no longer be raised. So it fell. Yet even though the house now lays in perish, the damaged door still stands. The hinges still uphold it with every grain of strength left within them. Impeccable that something cruelly wounded at such a young age, can live through an even worse circumstance in its later years.
The door hinge creaked as the samantha stepped peeked through the opening. The room was dimly lit and she could barely make out the shadows to lead her way. Smoke assualted her
The door was coming off its hinge. As I lied in bed, staring at the crooked frame, I realized it was a sort of metaphor for my sanity, unhinged slightly. I smiled to myself, if somewhat sadly.
don’t really know wht hinge means, I should search, but I only have 60 secs. Still 30, more or less. I could have searched. Too late, anyway. :scatsinging:
hinge, ginge, and other names that i associate with the word above i guess door, door as in floor, floor where i can stare up at the ceiling and think of my love.
The hinge on the door was broken. No one liked the way things looked from outside of the house but on this inside it all looked so much worse. At first glance it looked like a robbery that had been interrupted by the home owners. That is, until I noticed the half smoked cigar sitting in the kitchen sink. Mr. and Mrs. Marks didn’t smoke and another officer reporter that nothing seemed to missing.
The door squeaked as the little boy came in. It gave him away, and the old lady demanded he explain himself. Explaining himself was the furthest thing from his mind as the began to level his father’s handgun at her. She pleaded, unbelieving, but he shot anyway, amateurishly. “This is for taking away my tree,” he said.
Držela jsem dveře. Cítila jsem jejich tíhu. Opět vypadli z pantu a zrovna se to stalo mě. Dveře byly dvakrát větší a dvakrát těžší než já.
“Pomoc!” volala jsem. Bála jsem se, že mě ty dveře zabijí. Už už jsem je začínala pouštět, ale najednou jsem ucítila, jak se dveře zvedají a někdo je bere do rukou. Viděla jsem jen prsty, které držely dveře, ale osoba za nimi byla schovaná.
When i first met you, i got an hinge.
It told me to hang on to you,
never let you go.
I’ve questioned it,
But I’m very happy i eventually did.
Never want to lose you!
And that all by one Hinge…
I am becoming unhinged at the thought of seeing these people again. They make me. Well I can’t say right now, but the thought of them and me in the same room after all these years.
i immediately think about the hinges on a door and immediately after that i realize how superficial that is. i wish that what i would think first of is how to use the word poetically or in a way that’s beautiful.
A jointed device or flexible piece on which a door, gate, shutter, lid, or other attached part turns, swings, or moves.
OR
A natural anatomical joint at which motion occurs around a transverse axis, as that of the knee or a bivalve shell.
the hinge locked tight and the dorr shut closed. then the little boy ran off screaming cuz his cat was lost on the other side. no on e was there to help s he wept and wept until the cat jumped into the tree. Where was mom and dear old dad; hmmmm.
A lot of the day-to-day decisions I make hinge on a single factor. For example, today I’m foregoing working out because I need to go to the police station to take care of a traffic ticket.
My marriage hinges on my sanity. My sanity seems to hinge on my marriage. I’m trying to change that. I need to have my sanity with or without my marriage, with or without money, with or without a job. My life should “hinge” on my relationship with God.
The hinges on my door squeak. I always freak out whenever it does because sometimes it squeaks for no apparent reason. That can only mean.. Ghosts. [laughs] But really, it a little bit scary though. Like those creepy horror movies
*creeeeeeeeeeaakkk*
SCREAMS.
Hahahaha.
It all hinges on whether or not he’s guilty. If he is, then she shouldn’t go home with him, and she shouldn’t go back to that life, no matter what she thought of it. But if he’s not guilty – if he was wrongfully accused, and he’s actually innocent, then she should go back with him; he’s her father, and to refuse a child the last vestiges of parental influence would be horrendous.
But it all hinges –
And neither one of us knows if he’s guilty or not.
The hinges of his jaw creaked as he grinned, his sallow skin twisting into that same dead expression my nightmares loved to remind me of. A row of unnaturally gray teeth glinted from between his wooden lips, shining like frog eggs. I shivered.
“What’s the matter?” Even his speech sounded like rusty nails. “Afraid of dolls?”
Yeah, I thought, swallowing hard. Yeah I’m afraid of dolls, no thanks to you.
Beady eyes glinted back at me in the dark, all-seeing, more aware than I dared contemplate. He didn’t stop smiling.
The lid creaked as she pried it apart. A smell like dust and cedar enveloped the little box, and three folded papers greeted her wandering fingers. Special words, the greatest of her life. Last words.
life is like a hinge that i goes to and fro, but i know that beyond this life, there is life for everyone that does the things God wants us to do,
there are hinges everywhere. Body hinges, door hinges, shoot…jjust hinges. Why would someone make hinges? They were probably tired of moving the stone from the cave. Who knows. Quite Frankly, Im just glad that
The hinge buckled and the soggy wood shed into soft splinters, peeling away from the frame. The opening revealed a room cast with blue underwater light that webbed through the verdant vines on the warped windows. Cracks threaded through the stone floor seeping monastical indigo ink that saturated the air with a thick silence. I lit a candle and like a flower it bloomed quickly and then died, leaving a withered curl of velvety smoke.
I shoved the door open and it swung back and forth on it’s hinges, making eerie, uncomfortable noises that rang out through the eerie, uncomfortable night. I immediately regretted the action when three pairs of glowing white eyes trained their sites on me and stealthily made their way through the dark. Fear pounded in my chest as I realized that the door behind me had closed, and that the chances of my escape from the mercenaries were slowly dwindling.
The door rattled on its hinges, but didn’t otherwise budge. He could hear her shrieking behind it, could hear her being torn to pieces by the thing they’d unwittingly trapped in there with her.
“ERIKA!” Gav screamed as loudly as he could, pounding his fists against the wood and wishing someone would hear them and break the salt line before it was too late.
the door hinge slowly squeaks as i think of you in a room full of haunted memories…..
My fingers hurt.
I don’t know why.
Maybe I should have stayed away and my child won’t have crushed my fingers with the door.
Red crustacean
Like marks appear on the hinges
Of my fingers
Making them bend like stiff
Pine trees in a lonely breeze
My digits are enflamed
Like the skin devil is living beneath them
Fueling a fire of a life
I do not quite understand
I can cover them
Or I can simply let it be
The battered door creaks as the rusted, old hinges slowly turn to open it. I remember as a child I would dash through the house and slam the door with youthful vigor. As time wore on the door remained bruised from my childish insensitivity. The hinges stayed loose and weakened from my nuisance. Now I understand the old door’s dilapidated state, bearing two hinges that have survived through not only my harms but the world’s harms as well. As the house collapsed many years ago through a natural course of aging. The wooden walls and beams had rotted and the weight of the roof could no longer be raised. So it fell. Yet even though the house now lays in perish, the damaged door still stands. The hinges still uphold it with every grain of strength left within them. It’s impeccable that a lesser form of cruelty can mold anything into something that can outlast merciless anguish.
It’s the thing that makes going through a door possible. And I want to. I want to go through doors. Sometimes I am afraid. And I want to stop being afraid. The hinge is there to close any door I should not go through, so if the door is open why not just go ahead.
the hinges squeaked as I slowly opened the door, afraid to see what was inside. I don’t know what I expected to see that scared me so, but my imagination must have been in overdrive because my heart was beating like the drums in a hard rock song.
I am beginning to come unhinged. I am not responsible for my emotions. I am a dam, broken from the center, water falling downward, not responsible for the wreckage it is causing in its destructive path. I wonder how it feels to be in control of your emotions.
She slammed the door in his face.
She was done with him. Forever.
And ever. Her mind was made up.
He would be banished from her life.
The door hinge was broken, and the door
slowly began to open again.
His was still standing there.
Pitty the door isn’t fixed onto all of ’em. Maybe then it would shut properly.
My arms were full. I kicked the open to grt threw. I didn’t know the door was off its hinnge
The battered door creaks as the rusted, old hinges slowly turn to open it. I remember as a child I would dash through the house and slam the door with youthful vigor. As time wore on the door remained bruised from my childish insensitivity. The hinges stayed loose and weakened from my nuisance. Now I understand the old door’s dilapidated state, bearing two hinges that have survived through not only my harms but the world’s harms as well. As the house collapsed many years ago through a natural course of aging. The wooden walls and beams had rotted and the weight of the roof could no longer be raised. So it fell. Yet even though the house now lays in perish, the damaged door still stands. The hinges still uphold it with every grain of strength left within them. Impeccable that something cruelly wounded at such a young age, can live through an even worse circumstance in its later years.
The door hinge creaked as the samantha stepped peeked through the opening. The room was dimly lit and she could barely make out the shadows to lead her way. Smoke assualted her
The door was coming off its hinge. As I lied in bed, staring at the crooked frame, I realized it was a sort of metaphor for my sanity, unhinged slightly. I smiled to myself, if somewhat sadly.
Tied to the rafter
a hinge to the air
a pendulum of the twelfth strike
Reasons included: life
love, money, and the spark
of the brain that jumped to conclusions
over logic and slow ironing of time
don’t really know wht hinge means, I should search, but I only have 60 secs. Still 30, more or less. I could have searched. Too late, anyway. :scatsinging:
hinge, ginge, and other names that i associate with the word above i guess door, door as in floor, floor where i can stare up at the ceiling and think of my love.
Its the gold/broze/silver things on the side of the door. Idk what it really is…….
*I see stars in the sky*
you are the hinge
in between
me and the world
if you let go
i’ll fall apart
like i’m falling apart
right now
please don’t let
go
The hinge on the door was broken. No one liked the way things looked from outside of the house but on this inside it all looked so much worse. At first glance it looked like a robbery that had been interrupted by the home owners. That is, until I noticed the half smoked cigar sitting in the kitchen sink. Mr. and Mrs. Marks didn’t smoke and another officer reporter that nothing seemed to missing.
The door squeaked as the little boy came in. It gave him away, and the old lady demanded he explain himself. Explaining himself was the furthest thing from his mind as the began to level his father’s handgun at her. She pleaded, unbelieving, but he shot anyway, amateurishly. “This is for taking away my tree,” he said.
it is what it is
nothing really matters
hanging off a hinge
slowly falling
everything ever known
ruined
Držela jsem dveře. Cítila jsem jejich tíhu. Opět vypadli z pantu a zrovna se to stalo mě. Dveře byly dvakrát větší a dvakrát těžší než já.
“Pomoc!” volala jsem. Bála jsem se, že mě ty dveře zabijí. Už už jsem je začínala pouštět, ale najednou jsem ucítila, jak se dveře zvedají a někdo je bere do rukou. Viděla jsem jen prsty, které držely dveře, ale osoba za nimi byla schovaná.
When i first met you, i got an hinge.
It told me to hang on to you,
never let you go.
I’ve questioned it,
But I’m very happy i eventually did.
Never want to lose you!
And that all by one Hinge…
I am becoming unhinged at the thought of seeing these people again. They make me. Well I can’t say right now, but the thought of them and me in the same room after all these years.
i immediately think about the hinges on a door and immediately after that i realize how superficial that is. i wish that what i would think first of is how to use the word poetically or in a way that’s beautiful.
A jointed device or flexible piece on which a door, gate, shutter, lid, or other attached part turns, swings, or moves.
OR
A natural anatomical joint at which motion occurs around a transverse axis, as that of the knee or a bivalve shell.
the hinge locked tight and the dorr shut closed. then the little boy ran off screaming cuz his cat was lost on the other side. no on e was there to help s he wept and wept until the cat jumped into the tree. Where was mom and dear old dad; hmmmm.
A lot of the day-to-day decisions I make hinge on a single factor. For example, today I’m foregoing working out because I need to go to the police station to take care of a traffic ticket.
My marriage hinges on my sanity. My sanity seems to hinge on my marriage. I’m trying to change that. I need to have my sanity with or without my marriage, with or without money, with or without a job. My life should “hinge” on my relationship with God.
The hinges on my door squeak. I always freak out whenever it does because sometimes it squeaks for no apparent reason. That can only mean.. Ghosts. [laughs] But really, it a little bit scary though. Like those creepy horror movies
*creeeeeeeeeeaakkk*
SCREAMS.
Hahahaha.
It all hinges on whether or not he’s guilty. If he is, then she shouldn’t go home with him, and she shouldn’t go back to that life, no matter what she thought of it. But if he’s not guilty – if he was wrongfully accused, and he’s actually innocent, then she should go back with him; he’s her father, and to refuse a child the last vestiges of parental influence would be horrendous.
But it all hinges –
And neither one of us knows if he’s guilty or not.
hinge means a flexible joint, and to attach something.