I elevated my knee up on the pillows and dropped the ice pack on to it, groaning with pain as the cold hit my leg. "You should've been more careful," I heard my friend mutter before I reached out with my free foot and kicked her.
You touched me on the knee. I wasn't sure what to say anymore. My words had dried up like a smoker's lungs, and all that I inhaled tasted bitter. I couldn't quite find the air to breathe, but it didn't matter anyway. Time stood still. I avoided your eyes, because I knew that I would find my reflection in the water that had pooled there.
I'd go down on one for you. I mean, if girls did that. And if you would even 1 in 100 chances say yes. We could make it as a pair, I think.
She was so angry. Just the kind of angry that makes you want to simultaneously cry and scream. She was just so sick of always getting back up. She had had to deal with so many injuries. She just could not handle it anymore.
Without hesitation I slid down onto my knees. Now what does that tell you? Palms up, eyes down, awaiting the next command.
You know when you scratch your knee when you're a kid? It's painful, isn't it? It bleeds and you're freaking out and don't know what to do, and then your good old mom comes and helps you clean it up. We hurt our knees a lot in life…the joint that connects where we want to go to everything else. Hopefully we'll all have someone to make it all better.
She was contained, but unrestrained, fury. A distinctly feminine blur composed of little besides elbows and fists, knees and feet. It wasn't, she wasn't, HUMAN; she couldn't be. She was precision made flesh, each blow timed to singular perfection.
People just couldn't move that fast, couldn't think that many steps ahead. They couldn't bend and twist and snap and thrust without bones creaking or just plain snapping. But she could; she DID.
And I couldn't do anything but stare.
He banged his knee rather painfully on the sharp edge of his desk in the darkness.
but was already bitter about it before it had even begun.
She had a tiny little scar just below her knee that she got from shaving once. It didn't hurt much, but it bled for what seemed like forever. She soaked through countless tissues trying to stop the red river trickling down her leg, but it was relentless.
My knees! They used to work fine bit now they need a little encouragement. Surely I'm not that old….
"You like the simplicity." Hyuuga smiles finally, and Riko huffs quietly back into her layout.
Knee? What knee? I didn't say I had to have a knee transplant. Where'd you get that from? I said that I need him. Not kneed him. Stupid.
His knee ached from the cold. It felt stiff and bruised, and he cupped his hand around it and sat trying to listen to the other men, but all he could think about was how much it hurt and how much he wanted to sleep.
The knee is the ugliest appendage — I heard this first when mini skirts made their debut in the sixties.
They were speaking to me, but since they didn't call me by name, I ignored the rule and flaunted ugly knees for the crucial length of my high school career.
water dripped down from a nearby drain, its slow tapping the only sound in the dark ally way. launching at his opponent he struck him full in the chest causing him to fall to his knees.
I hit my knee and silently curse my long, gangly legs. I am always hitting things. I have so many scars from falls as a child and countless bruises from my clumsiness. I rub out the pain and move on.
It is really hard when I see you always coming back to her. It is like a wound on my knee. Painful when I try to stand up from falling.
My sister says her favorite body part is the knee. I disaknee. I love the mouth–the tongue, the teeth, the way he uses that lovely body part to smile at me.
Is it a humble attitude?
Most of all it is a call to pray…to talk with God.
to bless the ground in front of your feet.
I sat on the ground, barbed wire fence pressing against my back and gravel beneath my bare toes. Eyes closed, I felt dizzy. I waited a moment – sea air warmed the inside of my throat, mingled with the smells of piss and the remains from the broken shards of beer bottles from last night. Holding my breath, I ran the pointer finger of my right hand down the peach fuzz of my thigh, down mole I've had since I was 6, down the dimple left from that one stubborn chicken pock that took weeks to go away, years ago, ran the finger down over the hills and wrinkles of my knee and felt wetness. The air left my chest it does when you just let go of a balloon, fizzing, instant, shocking. Eyes still closed, trying to steady my breathing, I felt around the gash.
myself. I hope my knee heals in time for the dance.