Shoulder Blades Uneven Novels & Stories

My shoulders feel stiff, but that’s from holding still too long. I pause at my left arm and roll the sleeve back out of habit. I’ve cleaned and dressed every injury I’ve had since arriving. I would have noticed something new. That certainty is still there when my fingers stop. There’s a faint line just below my inner elbow and it's darker than the rest of me, like something pressed from beneath rather than cut from above.

I returned his hug with my good arm before I heard his thank me under his breath. We had just separated when Dr. Carol Martinson entered. She looked at Clayton and me and waited silently. Figuring she was wanting to know if she could disclose information in front of him I gave a slight nod. She returned the nod before explaining, “ I came to tell you that you are healing well. You should be good to go but I would highly recommend taking it easy on your left shoulder. At least for a week or so. The rest of your injuries should be fine in a day or so.”

Serena frowned, "Going somewhere? Am I okay like this?" Scarlett grabbed her wrist and pushed her in front of the make-up mirror, "Why not, Serena I'm telling you, you just left Matthew, there are tons of men who want to chase you, don't hang on to one tree." Scarlett reached up, scratched at Serena's head and put her hair in a ponytail, exposing her neck. The average person doesn't have a smooth shoulder-neck line, with prominent obliques that can look ugly. But Serena's shoulder and neck line was perfect, like a white swan with a craned neck.

He helped placed it on my shoulder, it didn't take long before it came crashing down to the ground. "I don't get. I was having no problem carrying it on my shoulder and trying to balance it some minutes ago. Why I can't I do it now." I yelled out exasperated. "You are weak, but far from that. You are overthinking it and also not focused. Stop dwelling in your pain, pay no attention to the aching on your shoulder blades." Arkalis lectured calmly. I released a huge breathe ready to try out again. I absorbed the water from the ground, and still added some water from the drum cause the water from the ground didn't fill up the buckets.

Caleb hissed, his silver eyes flashed with a sudden, dangerous brightness that made the ice in my drink rattle slightly against the glass. "Caleb," I warned, my voice sharp enough to snap his attention back to me. The silver light in his irises dimmed, returning to their quiet, masked grey. Nathan didn't notice the eyes, but as a pediatric neurosurgeon, his gaze was trained on something else. He was looking at the way Caleb’s left shoulder was completely locked, the way the fabric of his sleeve didn't bunch or drape naturally over his forearm, but stood rigid, as if covering a solid mold.

Before I could finish my sentence, my shoulder was held by a pair of warm, broad palms. I immediately straightened my back and tensed up. Bryce narrowed his eyes, and his thumb pressed against my trapezius muscle. "Relax a little, your shoulders are too tight." Whether it was because he pressed too hard or touched the wrong place, I shuddered all over, and my cheeks quickly turned red. The blush crept up to my ears, and even my neck turned red. Bryce looked down at me, his breathing becoming heavy, and his eyes turned fierce, like a wild beast in need of food, with red eyes.

sound. She watched his small figure from afar. He was completely absorbed in drawing, his head slightly lowered. His neck formed a gentle curve, and the small, light-brown mole on the back of his neck was faintly visible in the warm light. His shoulders were narrow. The shoulders of his blue pajamas were one size too large for his actual shoulder width, causing two horizontal folds to form on his shoulders.

The physical geometry of his shoulder width measured forty-four inches, his chest cavity expanding and contracting in a steady, calculated rhythm of fourteen respiration cycles per minute. ​"Your left hip is rotating three degrees to the exterior, Rhys," I said, my voice carrying its typical dry, analytical tone to manage the steady acceleration of my own heart rate. "If you initiate the vertical descent with that lateral misalignment, you will transfer seventy percent of the load directly to your left quadriceps, rendering our manual balancing session yesterday entirely mathematically useless." ​"I am adjusting the coordinate now, Sasha," Rhys said. His vocal frequency was registered at for

On the third, she planted her foot and put her full body weight through her shoulder. "That is it," I said. "That is the correct version." "It felt completely different," she said. "Because you used your weight correctly," I said. "Not arm strength. Body weight through the shoulder. That works on someone twice your size." She was breathing harder now. Working but not exhausted. "One more," she said. "Side approach. The counter from the third tab." "Which one specifically," I said. "Turn into the pull instead of against it," she said. "Use the momentum."

Colette watches, calling numbers in French. "The waist is fine." She moves around me. "The shoulders need work. Does she always slouch?" I pull my spine straight. "I'm standing right here." "Oui. And you are slouching." Her fingers press between my shoulder blades, against the knot I've always carried. "You carry tension like a stone." She isn't wrong. My shoulders have been up around my ears since last night. They discuss my proportions in French, my college French rusted over, but what I catch makes heat crawl up my face. Too pale. The hair is lovely but needs proper care. The posture, mon dieu. And those hands.