Another Word For Desperate Novels & Stories

’ And I shifted closer to read the passage. And frowned. Another ingredient label. Rum continued reading and translating. ‘The darkness seeks the willing…the willing is the open….’ Sigh. More riddles. ‘The willing is one who doesn’t resist.’ Rum looked at me. ‘Because he’s desperate.’ It sounds logical to me, so I nodded and added, ‘Or one who can’t resist. Because he’s too tired. So these are the depressed or desperate.’

the doctor's voice pierced through my pain, and I clung to his coat, desperate for him to take back those words. "You're lying!" I cried, my grip on his coat tightening with each syllable. "Tell me you're lying!" I shouted, my voice filled with raw desperation, hoping against hope that this nightmare would be revealed as just that—a horrific dream. "Let me see my son! You're lying!" I shrieked, my desperation spiralling into hysteria. I fell to my knees, begging and pleading with them to allow me to see my precious child. "Please, let me see my son," I whimpered weakly, my strength fading away. But no matter how much they tried to console me, their gentle caresses falling on deaf ears, nothi

Ineffable - Utterly indescribable, too scared to be speak of. Vorfreude - the joyful, intense anticipation that comes from imagining future pleasures. Ataraxia - A state of emotional freedom and tranquility, the sensation of calmness and peace of mind. Lacuna - A blank space; a missing part. Absquatulate - Leave abruptly; to leave without saying goodbye. Nepenthe - Something that makes you forget grief or suffering. Quietus - An End or Death. Hiraeth - A homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was.

It was a desperate th ought, begging for an end to her torment.

I called, my voice cracking with desperation. ***

I pleaded, my voice dripping with desperation. I returned my gaze to the book and flipped a few more pages, but I couldn't find the answer, which further fuelled my desperation. My head shot up, and my gaze flew to my father and then to my mother. "Dad! Mom? Please help me," I pleaded. With every passing second, my desperation grew until I felt it coursing through my veins. I ran towards the portrait again, and my tears began to flow again. "I beg you, come to my rescue; I don't know what to do." I cried.

It’s ragged, hoarse, and desperate. “No! This can’t be!”

Desperately. The battle raged. Reality convulsed. The between-space shattered and reformed and shattered again. And the rescue party waited. Helpless. Desperate. Hoping. Hoping the philosopher could win. Could defeat Hunger. Could free Hope. Hoping. Desperately. Absolutely. Hoping.

I asked, He thought for a sec before answering, "Yes, I know," "Can you take me there," I asked, "Yes, please," he said while gesturing to me to follow him. I nodded my head and began following him outside. Why are you so desperate to see him, Davina? My subconscious questioned. Did you forget what he did to you? Let him suffer, let him drown in his misery, why do you care? I don't know! I replied back because I genuinely don't know why I care, I don't have answers to all these questions and I hate myself for being this way.

A fragil‍e plea, a desperate pray‍er‌. There was no answer.