Disclaimer: I bow at the altar of Toby Whithouse and am only borrowing.
(gloves)
He was a man who touched many lives, in ways both good and bad.
The lives of the soldiers he saved, by giving up his own. The lives of those who loved him, and whom he loved back – the dancer, the grey ghost, the doctor. The life of a werewolf, lost in a new world.
The lives he took, at random and selectively. The comrade in arms, the girls in bars, men on the streets; a colleague and a lover; the passengers on a commuter train.
He touched all their worlds, and the mark he left was not forgotten.
(Star of David)
George was never particularly religious. His parents were content to let him sit through the school assembly and mumble "Kum Ba Yah" with the rest of the children, and there were ham sandwiches in his lunchbox and later, bacon in his homemade quiches. But they gave him a star for his 13th birthday, and he took to wearing it, underneath his t-shirt.
Later, when the world had fallen in, he found that his lack of belief in religion had been replaced by a sort of faith. Faith that despite the monsters, there was still humanity out there, worth believing in.
(mug)
She had always tried to comfort people. The other children in the playground were the recipients of gentle words and clean tissues when they fell over and hurt their knees. She was the one to supply chocolate and booze when her friends broke up with their boyfriends.
The tea was just an extension of that. Its scent permeated the pink house, a very English smell. The boys complained about the mugs and the endless washing up, but when they'd had a bad day at work, there would be Annie and her tea, and a patient ear, and a comforting hug.
(ultrasound)
There's another heart beating, next to hers, and tiny feet kicking inside. Nina sits, sometimes, at work on her break, and listens through her stethoscope with wonder. That such a tough little being, capable of withstanding the wolf, should be growing inside – a creature made of love and passion and George - astonishes her. The wonder of it takes her breath away, as she listens to the quick steady beat of her baby's heart. And although she is terrified too, at the prospect of the life her child might lead, it is the most wonderful sound in the world.
(a phone number)
It's been too long since Alex has been on a date. A proper date. She's flirted in pubs, and snogged a few blokes in clubs, but a proper hot date with a properly hot man – not for too long. It's the prospect of breaking back through that weird wall that Hal-in-the-café had thrown up, the instant she tried anything on, that encourages her back in there to give him her number. He's odd, sure, but she's willing to take a risk, stripy apron and polo shirt notwithstanding. Alex has a hunch Hal is a man worth her best bra.
(domino)
"The beauty of a domino," Leo said, handing Hal the set all those years ago, "is that you have a choice. You can pick a number, pick a side. Choose whether to pick them up or knock them down."
"Two sides aren't always good," Hal had said, but he had gone along with Leo's instructions. Under his friend's patient gaze, he had learned restraint. He'd fallen into the pattern of as normal a life as someone like him could ever hope to have.
But dominoes have two sides, and it's all too easy to make them fall down.
(wolf)
He grew up watching McNair whittle stakes. In front of the van, in the evening, the knife would come out and a pile of wood would turn into a pile of weapons. Tom fell asleep to the sound of metal against wood, the scent of woodshavings in his nostrils.
He tried carving his first figure when he was nine, and cut his finger doing it. McNair scolded him and wrapped up the finger, but he tried again. By the time he was eleven, little wolves were lining the shelves. They were Tom's pack, until finally, he found a real one.