Flailing like a helpless magikarp or flailing like some fangirl who found a really really reallllly good fan fiction to read after a shortage of quality in the fandom? This word conjures up two really distinct images for me.
one word given is that of failing. what is it to fail in life? failing would suggest a present action. i am failing at the moment. but what am i failing exactly? am i failing the task at hand? am i failing my own expectation? given that i only have 60 seconds to write about this, can i really ever fail at this task at all? i dont thin
Her arms were flailing wildly as she let the fridge door close by itself.
“Who ate my pudding?!” she screamed in frustration, letting out a feral growl.
Her brother watched from the corner, spoon in hand, feeling particularly terrified.
Flailing makes me think about the ocean. About drowning, maybe? I guess that’s a bit morbid. But I think about sailboats and swimming and worrying that the ocean will take you. I’m not afraid of the ocean, but flailing means white limbs drowning. I don’t know where that association came from. Or maybe falling?
“Don’t do it!” screamed Madison, flailing in her bed, as the doctors closed in on her. Her face was bright purple and her fingers were numb, but she would not stop her convulsing.
The men in red polos and jeans, with syringes clipped to their belts and flasks stapled to their belts, did not falter in their task. They tried to pin her as she screamed. Her uncle stood languidly in the corner.
“I’m flailing internally,”
I say in response to your announcement
but I see the invisible soapbox beneath your feet
and I’m not really flailing internally
I fell. And kept falling. Trough the air, was that air? I could fell my limbs, MY LIMBS, doing something so strange. THey embodied all the panic my terrified mind could not feel. THey were separate from me, apart, struck with some madness, some insanity that was not my own. I was going to die and i was fine with that. Flailing.
I watched her arms flailing, her eyes rolling, her legs twitching. I tried to help but there was nothing I could do. I screamed, cursing my inability to help, to do anything. Then, I woke up to people grabbing my own flailing arms.
Little stars in the sky–they look still but they aren’t. I know. I lived very closely with one. Like little parasites growing in a pool of bitter, tarry mud, they are flailing, moving, spinning like a pinwheel of fire and limbs.
2AM. A dying yellow cathode buzzed above my head. The sick light slid down into the grimy bathroom mirror and sputtered backwards to catch in my hair like spiderwebs, painting my skin the color of last week’s obituaries.
I stood perfectly still. The mirror couldn’t see what my hands gripped desperately, shaking and white-knuckled, below the rim of the cracked ceramic sink, and although I would never admit it I was glad to not see it staring back at me.
My heart was flailing like a dying insect. I mentally told it to shut up, to stop making me sicker than I already was, but its frantic throes persisted.
The buzzing light was swallowing even the silence. It felt as if time had keeled over sideways. What was my name again? Did it even matter?
Cold metal shivered between my fingers. I closed my eyes.
She was falling, flailing through the water. No matter how she moved it seemed to only drive her deeper into the ocean. Her air was running out, her throat burned and her eyes even worse so as they blinked open and shut in the stinging salt water. She could feel hope slipping further from her as the water ran between her fingers, as she fell deeper and deeper.
Before today, I was flailing, drowning in muddy waters. The future was unsure and nothing was certain. But the light has penetrated the murk. I can see the bottom of the pool, and a surge of hope goes through me. No longer do I flail and struggle. I take a deep breath, float on the surface and let the water carry me out through a channel to the sea. Things are looking up for me.
As the water began to surge over her, Madelyn fought for air. Her breath came in short gasps, but no amount of thrashing and flailing could bring her closer to the precious oxygen she so desperately needed. She slowly realized, she was drowning.
Falling further and faster, or feeling it. Everything around you is flying past, and you can’t stop it all. Can’t slow it down. Watching it isn’t helping, is it? You just feel more and more helpless as you realize how much it’s all out of your hands. You have no control over this. No power. And, now, what do you do? As you watch it all falling apart around you?
she was flailing as she fell, screaming out, but it was to late she was off the cliff and that was that. there was nothing we could do anymore but regret just standing there. we just stood there all of us watching as she slipped, watching as he pushed her.
As I flailed my arms wildly, terror flashing across my eyes, you smiled softly. “I can’t do this! You just don’t understand!” I screamed desperately into your face. You just shook your head side to side, keeping your eyes on mine the entire time. Pretty soon my words just stopped coming, no more excuses as to why you couldn’t stay, just violent sobs. You didn’t get the point though, even with my warnings you stayed, arms wrapped around me in a protective cocoon.
Imagined flailing, hopeless trapping. A hypothetical barrier of respect. I want to leave but should I? If I do, I’ll lose faith in others eyes. And so I’m trapped in a cage, hoping to make face with those I bitterly hate.
falling and hoping to catch yourself. swinging your arms in circles or back and forth. it’s not that you’re going to fall, but rather the fear that you might. do you flail on the way back up? probably not. should you? perhaps. it’s harder to stand back up after you fall, after all.
He watched helplessly from the sand as the girl dove into the glassy blue lake. He knew she didn’t know how to swim, but there was no convincing her otherwise. After what seemed like endless moments, her head broke the surface, her painted fingernails flailing above her head.
The days after you died up through today. The world kept moving and I was barely hanging on. It felt out of control inside but they all said I was so calm. I was dealing with things so well. Sometimes I still feel like I am flailing inside but walking/working through my days.
it wasn’t long before the shock subsided. I was falling down, and i needed to act. I began to flail about as i tumbled through the outer atmosphere, praying that Zeus would scoop me up into his arms before i splattered against Mother Earth herself.
flailing sounds like failing. I am not sure what the word means. flailing is failing with an “L” in the middle. L for love. L for the little girl who invented love. L for the life she in stored in her beloved chronos god of time. L for losing him time and again. L for flailing. f(l)ailing. failing.
The little girl who invented love but f(l)ailed.
flailing about like a fish out of water,
gasping even though this air isn’t what you need.
struggling to breathe in this setting,
i wish i could fix you.
i wish i could make you better.
i wish that you were okay.
i’m more concerned when you stop moving
and your chest calms.
when the flailing stops
the peace still doesn’t settle in.
Branches flailing like the arms of drowning man. Bucking and bending beneath the power of the wind, the trunk of the great oak seemed to moan with pain and sorrow every time another gust of wind battered it. The rain formed puddles that washed away the soil revealing its roots, its stronghold on the landscape slipping, creaking and swaying with the power of storm. A crack, the snap of a breaking bone sounded as the lightning struck. Down. It crashed, and there it lay until long after the storm clouds parted and the skies returned to blue.
I wonder how it’s possible to feel so much
To be overwhelmed by the slightest, tingling touch
How you managed to awaken a heart once hollow
Drowning me in words that I cannot swallow.
I smiled and considered the question carefully. Two trains leave the station at 5:15 traveling at different speeds. One is red and one is blue. The sky is overcast.
His arm brushed mine and I wondered where I’d put my chapstick.
The wind rushing past her ears, she fell, her limbs flailing around her, until she reached the surface of the water with a crash. Ow. That was not a good way to land. At the base of the waterfall, the current pushed her towards the banks, where she hopped out and rushed back up the mountain to jump again.
His arms were flailing wildly as he fell from the cliff. bass jumping had seemed like a good idea at first and he couldn’t believe Matt had talked him into actually doing it. The air rushed past and the ground was zooming in on him when it hit. The water was dark underneath him and the chute was stuck. Desperately he tugged at the cord pleading with God for it to open but it was stuck fast. He plunged head-first into the water, daylight disappearing fast above him. Darkness sucking him down, smothering him.
Im flailing my arms. i’m falling. faster and faster down the side of the building. i’m trying to fly but it’s not working. my arms aren’t working. my wing have dissappeared…
oh my god i am so hungry i need a samwitch i spelt it wrong and im hungry and a need food for my life even though this hasnothing to do with flailing im just hungry and not paying attention to incorrect grammer or spelling despite how bad it is now a need and food
Flailing is a demented person who has issues when it comes to drowning. They are often spastic and have mental conditions!! dane oram
applies to this catergory!
uh-oh, I have just bumped into a signpost of my lack of vocabulary of the english language. What does “flailing” mean? Do I have time check googl…
Flailing like a helpless magikarp or flailing like some fangirl who found a really really reallllly good fan fiction to read after a shortage of quality in the fandom? This word conjures up two really distinct images for me.
one word given is that of failing. what is it to fail in life? failing would suggest a present action. i am failing at the moment. but what am i failing exactly? am i failing the task at hand? am i failing my own expectation? given that i only have 60 seconds to write about this, can i really ever fail at this task at all? i dont thin
Her arms were flailing wildly as she let the fridge door close by itself.
“Who ate my pudding?!” she screamed in frustration, letting out a feral growl.
Her brother watched from the corner, spoon in hand, feeling particularly terrified.
Flailing makes me think about the ocean. About drowning, maybe? I guess that’s a bit morbid. But I think about sailboats and swimming and worrying that the ocean will take you. I’m not afraid of the ocean, but flailing means white limbs drowning. I don’t know where that association came from. Or maybe falling?
“Don’t do it!” screamed Madison, flailing in her bed, as the doctors closed in on her. Her face was bright purple and her fingers were numb, but she would not stop her convulsing.
The men in red polos and jeans, with syringes clipped to their belts and flasks stapled to their belts, did not falter in their task. They tried to pin her as she screamed. Her uncle stood languidly in the corner.
“I’m flailing internally,”
I say in response to your announcement
but I see the invisible soapbox beneath your feet
and I’m not really flailing internally
I fell. And kept falling. Trough the air, was that air? I could fell my limbs, MY LIMBS, doing something so strange. THey embodied all the panic my terrified mind could not feel. THey were separate from me, apart, struck with some madness, some insanity that was not my own. I was going to die and i was fine with that. Flailing.
I watched her arms flailing, her eyes rolling, her legs twitching. I tried to help but there was nothing I could do. I screamed, cursing my inability to help, to do anything. Then, I woke up to people grabbing my own flailing arms.
Little stars in the sky–they look still but they aren’t. I know. I lived very closely with one. Like little parasites growing in a pool of bitter, tarry mud, they are flailing, moving, spinning like a pinwheel of fire and limbs.
you can’t breathe. your fingers grasp, you catch air and nothing. space pours into you
2AM. A dying yellow cathode buzzed above my head. The sick light slid down into the grimy bathroom mirror and sputtered backwards to catch in my hair like spiderwebs, painting my skin the color of last week’s obituaries.
I stood perfectly still. The mirror couldn’t see what my hands gripped desperately, shaking and white-knuckled, below the rim of the cracked ceramic sink, and although I would never admit it I was glad to not see it staring back at me.
My heart was flailing like a dying insect. I mentally told it to shut up, to stop making me sicker than I already was, but its frantic throes persisted.
The buzzing light was swallowing even the silence. It felt as if time had keeled over sideways. What was my name again? Did it even matter?
Cold metal shivered between my fingers. I closed my eyes.
She was falling, flailing through the water. No matter how she moved it seemed to only drive her deeper into the ocean. Her air was running out, her throat burned and her eyes even worse so as they blinked open and shut in the stinging salt water. She could feel hope slipping further from her as the water ran between her fingers, as she fell deeper and deeper.
Before today, I was flailing, drowning in muddy waters. The future was unsure and nothing was certain. But the light has penetrated the murk. I can see the bottom of the pool, and a surge of hope goes through me. No longer do I flail and struggle. I take a deep breath, float on the surface and let the water carry me out through a channel to the sea. Things are looking up for me.
As the water began to surge over her, Madelyn fought for air. Her breath came in short gasps, but no amount of thrashing and flailing could bring her closer to the precious oxygen she so desperately needed. She slowly realized, she was drowning.
Falling further and faster, or feeling it. Everything around you is flying past, and you can’t stop it all. Can’t slow it down. Watching it isn’t helping, is it? You just feel more and more helpless as you realize how much it’s all out of your hands. You have no control over this. No power. And, now, what do you do? As you watch it all falling apart around you?
she was flailing as she fell, screaming out, but it was to late she was off the cliff and that was that. there was nothing we could do anymore but regret just standing there. we just stood there all of us watching as she slipped, watching as he pushed her.
I can’t contain myself
Neither can anyone else.
I am falling
and exploding
and flailing
and failing.
Fuck it.
As I flailed my arms wildly, terror flashing across my eyes, you smiled softly. “I can’t do this! You just don’t understand!” I screamed desperately into your face. You just shook your head side to side, keeping your eyes on mine the entire time. Pretty soon my words just stopped coming, no more excuses as to why you couldn’t stay, just violent sobs. You didn’t get the point though, even with my warnings you stayed, arms wrapped around me in a protective cocoon.
normal person: have sex with me
me: EW NO *runs away flailing arms*
one direction: have sex with me
me: yes master.
omg thats the only thing i could think of. i’m such a fag…:D
Imagined flailing, hopeless trapping. A hypothetical barrier of respect. I want to leave but should I? If I do, I’ll lose faith in others eyes. And so I’m trapped in a cage, hoping to make face with those I bitterly hate.
My arms are flailing
But they’re not really moving
I wish I didn’t have to be so still
falling and hoping to catch yourself. swinging your arms in circles or back and forth. it’s not that you’re going to fall, but rather the fear that you might. do you flail on the way back up? probably not. should you? perhaps. it’s harder to stand back up after you fall, after all.
He watched helplessly from the sand as the girl dove into the glassy blue lake. He knew she didn’t know how to swim, but there was no convincing her otherwise. After what seemed like endless moments, her head broke the surface, her painted fingernails flailing above her head.
The days after you died up through today. The world kept moving and I was barely hanging on. It felt out of control inside but they all said I was so calm. I was dealing with things so well. Sometimes I still feel like I am flailing inside but walking/working through my days.
it wasn’t long before the shock subsided. I was falling down, and i needed to act. I began to flail about as i tumbled through the outer atmosphere, praying that Zeus would scoop me up into his arms before i splattered against Mother Earth herself.
flailing sounds like failing. I am not sure what the word means. flailing is failing with an “L” in the middle. L for love. L for the little girl who invented love. L for the life she in stored in her beloved chronos god of time. L for losing him time and again. L for flailing. f(l)ailing. failing.
The little girl who invented love but f(l)ailed.
flailing about like a fish out of water,
gasping even though this air isn’t what you need.
struggling to breathe in this setting,
i wish i could fix you.
i wish i could make you better.
i wish that you were okay.
i’m more concerned when you stop moving
and your chest calms.
when the flailing stops
the peace still doesn’t settle in.
Branches flailing like the arms of drowning man. Bucking and bending beneath the power of the wind, the trunk of the great oak seemed to moan with pain and sorrow every time another gust of wind battered it. The rain formed puddles that washed away the soil revealing its roots, its stronghold on the landscape slipping, creaking and swaying with the power of storm. A crack, the snap of a breaking bone sounded as the lightning struck. Down. It crashed, and there it lay until long after the storm clouds parted and the skies returned to blue.
I wonder how it’s possible to feel so much
To be overwhelmed by the slightest, tingling touch
How you managed to awaken a heart once hollow
Drowning me in words that I cannot swallow.
flailing is an example of two men meeting together and having fun!!
So what do you think?
I smiled and considered the question carefully. Two trains leave the station at 5:15 traveling at different speeds. One is red and one is blue. The sky is overcast.
His arm brushed mine and I wondered where I’d put my chapstick.
The wind rushing past her ears, she fell, her limbs flailing around her, until she reached the surface of the water with a crash. Ow. That was not a good way to land. At the base of the waterfall, the current pushed her towards the banks, where she hopped out and rushed back up the mountain to jump again.
His arms were flailing wildly as he fell from the cliff. bass jumping had seemed like a good idea at first and he couldn’t believe Matt had talked him into actually doing it. The air rushed past and the ground was zooming in on him when it hit. The water was dark underneath him and the chute was stuck. Desperately he tugged at the cord pleading with God for it to open but it was stuck fast. He plunged head-first into the water, daylight disappearing fast above him. Darkness sucking him down, smothering him.
i want to do sanity not flaling so “You were never one for the creed Altier!”
Im flailing my arms. i’m falling. faster and faster down the side of the building. i’m trying to fly but it’s not working. my arms aren’t working. my wing have dissappeared…
She began flailing around as she was zapped by the lighting bolt. something like a tortured bug. there was no rythm to it at all.
there is one they fear in their toung he is dovahkiin dragon born! vus ro dah!
oh my god i am so hungry i need a samwitch i spelt it wrong and im hungry and a need food for my life even though this hasnothing to do with flailing im just hungry and not paying attention to incorrect grammer or spelling despite how bad it is now a need and food
Flailing is a demented person who has issues when it comes to drowning. They are often spastic and have mental conditions!! dane oram
applies to this catergory!