But they never did. And he was still crying when his throat turned to stone like the rest of him.
You have your world to rebuild, and I have mine.
Upon closer inspection I decided it was, like a lot of things, not as pretty up close as it seemed from a distance.
Addison had no filter; he always said just what he meant.
I’m so happy you’re here,” he said. “It’s proof, I think, that the stars are beginning to align for us.
With each step and each turn, we threaded deeper inside a knot, one I feared we’d never work apart. The.
Why does everyone always leap to the awfullest conclusions right away.
Don’t worry, Xavier’s on the job,” said Sharon. We heard a squeak and looked down to see the rat in question with a piece of cheese in its mouth. Sharon picked him up and scolded him. “Keys, I said, not cheese!
My parents and their world represented a return to sanity and predictability, something I was longing for after all this madness.
Oozing Street was oddly cheerful, with flower boxes hanging from windowsills and houses painted bright colors; even the slaughterhouse that anchored it was an inviting robin’s-egg blue, and I resisted an odd impulse to go inside and ask for a tour.
Beyond our grim circle, the underground station looked like the aftermath of a nightclub bombing. Steam from burst pipes shrieked forth in ghostly curtains. Splintered monitors swung broken-necked from the ceiling. A sea of shattered glass spread all the way to the tracks, flashing in the hysterical strobe of red emergency lights like an acre-wide disco ball.
I didn’t say EAT him!
We ran hunched along a subterranean corridor, discarded animal bones underfoot, the ceiling brushing our heads, past things I tried not to see – a slumped figure in a corner, sleepers shivering on miserable mats of straw, a boy in rags lying on the ground with a beggar’s pail bangled around one arm.
There’s an art to fleeing casually. It’s not easy, running from something that might kill you while not attracting stares.
It was the second time in three days that I’d taken up space normally reserved for a dead body. It seemed like the universe was trying to tell me something and not in a terribly subtle way.
Weatherman says,” Kev scoffed. “I wouldn’t trust that silly bugger to know if it’s raining now.
Oh for heaven’s sake, you provincial boob, I can speak better English than you can.
In the end, our real home had always been one another. And a real home was all I’d ever wanted.
Sometimes an old photograph, an old friend, an old letter will remind you that you are not who you once were, for the person who dwelt among them, valued this, chose that, wrote thus, no longer exists. Without noticing it you have traversed a great distance; the strange has become familiar and the familiar if not strange at least awkward or uncomfortable.
Get ahold of yourself, girl...