Prologue:

You couldn’t see it in his eyes or in his face but his hands told their story. He had just killed someone. He stood there still with blood on his hands and an expressionless face.

Jamie had just got back from school. That day was the worst and the last day of her life. In the morning she had got ready as usual in her grand but boring house. She was an only child with two very wealthy p...

Auroras skin was a pale orange - similar to her mother's. The ends of each of her fingers started constellations of stars that dragged along her hands. Each finger tip covered in tiny white sparkles.

She wore rings, gold matching her skin tone. Wrists covered in shiny yellow jewelry and fingers having several gold rings.

Her nails were also always done. She preferred warm colors like orange re...

I only see her hands—smooth, clean fingernails; long, sculpted fingers; a mighty thumb that hints at secret strength.

They hover between us like the poised pen of a composer ready to write a new adagio.

Her touch moves with lithe agility. Fair skin catches the lamplight, so smooth and soft you could almost mistake it for porcelain.

Ringless, unencumbered by vow or token, her hands invite a st...

(It’s not exactly the prompt, but here you go)

My hands hold firmly onto a sword, pointing it towards my opponent.

But it isn’t a sword used to harm.

It is for sport.

And on this particular night, my dearest friend and I are practicing. We are restless from the night’s revelries, still in our formal wear and unable to find any other way to release. It’s been so long since a match didn’t win in...

The little tiny marks that would last a lifetime. I would never forget what they were from. Every scar happened at a different time yet they were all related. Every single one of them was from a guitar string. Not all the same guitar, not all the same year but every single one was from a string....

As his finger trailed down my center I could feel the nicks and callouses catch on my tender skin. Rough in texture but gentle in touch. Each finger had nails cut short, though I’d watched him wash his hands before coming to me, I could still see the permanent dark lines from years of grime and hand work. The backs of his hands shown a a sun soaked caramel, his palms etched with contour lines of a...

There I stood, in the middle of the street staring down at my hands. It was a very cold, dark snowy night. The streets were covered in snowflakes and ice, the large pine trees with heavy snow. There were no houses in sight, no buildings in view, just an endless road. I had little on to keep my body from freezing, just a small dirty red coat and a black sweater. The flimsy red scarf around my neck ...

Jamies hands are warm and soft.

they feel safe.

jamies hands hold on me tightly in rough times.

they comfort me when im sad.clap for me in performances,and dance with me under the stars

they protect me.

jamie’s hands has been through everything with me,from car rides,to breakdowns.

their always there.

they interlock with me and frolic through the fields,beside me.

i love to hold them tight.

They l...

The fingers that drum on the worn wood of the table are old and calloused, dirt permanently under the cracked nails, the deep scar across the thumb providing a jagged break in the tanned skin....

Bitten

Bleeding

Always healing

Nails

And nail beds

All uneven

Under nails

Skin, blood, spit

The ritual, the survival, the instinct

Smaller hands learning to move things

Grabbing, pushing, pulling

Control, order, undoing

There must be something that needs fixing, correcting, dissecting

Some small, quick satisfaction these two hands can bring

I must check

I must check

If I don’t check how can ...