Freedom would not be handed to us like a gift. Freedom had to be fought for and taken.
I looked in the mirror and realized that I was already dead. I let you kill me one piece at a time, starting when I was, what? Eight years old? Nine? You killed yourself and then you came after us.
Maybe that was why I wanted to slap so many of the zombies; they had no idea how freaking lucky they were. Lucky and ignorant, happy little rich kids who believed in Santa Claus and the tooth fairy and thought that life was supposed to be fair.
So why does everyone make such a big hairy deal about me not talking? Maybe I don’t want to incriminate myself. Maybe I don’t like the sound of my voice. Maybe I don’t have anything to say.
How could men who liked cats be bad?
One had to be careful with elbows and boys.
The whole point of not talking about it, of silencing the memory, is to make it go away.
No wonder the zombies were crazy. They thought they were supposed to practice breeding before they learned how to do their own laundry. They talked about it, thought about it, maybe did it, all while going through the motions of attending class and learning stuff so that they could go forth and become productive adults. Whatever that was supposed to mean.
Light up the stars in your brain, electrify your body, buckle on your smile, and everybody will love you again.
They were coming, on wings from far away, all the pictures and voices, smells, tastes, all the everything from the past was flying toward me as fast as it could.
The warped perception of time is a hallmark of trauma.
Cubism. Seeing beyond what is on the surface. Moving both eyes and a nose to the side of the face. Dicing bodies and tables and guitars as if they were celery sticks, and rearranging them so that you have to really see them to see them.
I’ve got a cake rising,” Eliza said. “I’m not leaving that for any man.
Tell me this is a nightmare.
Too many grown ups tell kids to follow their dreams, like that’s going to get them somewhere. Auntie Laurie says follow your nightmares instead. Because when you figure out what’s eating you alive, you can slay it.
I was the reason she didn’t run away freshman year. I was the reason she didn’t eat a bottle of sleeping pills when her boyfriend cheated on her. I listened for hours when her parents yelled and tried to stuff her into a mannequin shell that didn’t fit. I understood what triggered her earthquakes, most of them.
Does being forced to sit in time-out ever make little kids stop putting cats in the dishwasher or drawing on white walls with purple marker? Of course not. It teaches them to be sneaky and guarantees that when they get to high school they’ll love detention because it’s a great place to sleep.
The difference between forgetting something and not remembering it is big enough to drive an eighteen-wheeler through.
When we were girls we rode horses disguised as bicycles.
Yesterday’s dirt and mistakes have moved through me. I am shiny and pink inside, clean. Empty is good. Empty is strong.