isaac knows how stupid i find these things, and he finds them just as stupid as i do. like lol. now, if there's anything stupider than buddy lists, it's lol. if anyone ever uses lol with me, i rip my computer right out of the wall and smash it over the nearest head. i mean, it's not like anyone's laughing out loud about the things they lol. i think it should be spelled loll, like what a lobotomized person's tongue does. loll. loll. i can't think any more. loll. loll!
I did some research on this a couple years ago," Augustus continued. "I was wondering if everybody could be remembered. Like, if we got organized, and assigned a certain number of corpses to each living person, would there be enough living people to remember all the dead people?""And are there?" "Sure, anyone can name fourteen dead people. But we're disorganized mourners, so a lot of people end up remembering Shakespeare and no one ends up remembering the person he wrote Sonnet Fifty-five about
When she came back minutes later with a great, fat, skinned rabbit, Po had built a fire. The flames cast orange light on the horses and on himself. "It was the least I could do," Po said, drily, "and I see you've already skinned the hare. I'm beginning to think I won't have much responsibility as we travel through the forest together.""Does it other you? You're welcome to do the hunting yourself. Perhaps I can stay by the fire and mend your socks, and scream if I hear strange noises.
Suddenly the bridge was filled with intense warmth, Will had lit the fire. Everyone immediately scurried over to it, with the exception of Scott. Carrie looked back at him, he was sitting with his back leaned against a stone pillar. The light from the flames danced on his sharp features and reflected in his dark eyes. Scott always wore a half-smile that was suspiciously close to a smirk. She was practically immune to his cockiness and wasn’t at all bothered by it the way that Will seemed to be.
Those deep set eyes that look like they could tell stories for days, and that wavy brown hair that feels soft between my fingers. I try to memorize the angles of his jaw and the lines of his lips, because I know.I know this may be the last time I ever see him.Breathe fills my lungs, my throat relaxes, and I can't help but smile. Because I can see what he's thinking as clearly as if he'd spoken.He doesn't want to leave - he doesn't want to go home.He's going to choose me instead.
I think sometimes in literature we kind of police ourselves. I know a lot of people talked about Twilight, and they would say, oh, but the heroine, she lets this man make her decisions. And I thought, that may not be the particular fantasy or trope that works for me.But listen man, I read Wuthering Heights. I wanted me a little Heathcliff action. I mean, why can't we indulge that fantasy and also be like, “And now I would like the ERA passed, please. Also, this lipstick is fuckin' killer.
Burlic screamed. He threw back his head and roared a single furious word into the night: “Waeccan.” The name erupted from him in a savage wail that rasped at his throat, over and over until he could shout no more.His howls echoed along the valley. In the village, the other hunters heard and exchanged glances, shook their heads and said nothing. The women clutched their talismans, told the children to go inside. They had tried to help, but there was nothing they could do for Burlic now.
Joseph, you’re out of clean towels.” Lucia poked her head into the living room, the rest of her hidden behind the wall. Her red hair dripped water onto my wooden floors.“She’s in the buff.” Jenna guffawed. Gabriella rolled her eyes, beaming.I rose. “Go back to the bathroom. I’ll bring you a towel,” I ordered Lucia. She disappeared down the hall.“You have naked angels running around your house,” Jenna continued through her laughter. Gabby laughed louder.
Uri stood staring at him, casually looking Gabe's body up and down before saying with a sly grin, "Well hello to you too, sexy. Does your wife know about this?" Uri then motioned with a dainty fingertip to Gabe's ensemble.Looking down, Gabe quickly realised the robe he had grabbed to cover himself with belonged to Rachel, and much to his dismay, was far too sheer for comfort at the moment. Slipping a well laid hand into place, Gabe huffed and looked at his friend in aggravation, secretly trying not to laugh.
Without the Dreamscape, we can’t sleep.My parents remind me all the time about stories their parents told them, of how things were in the Manic Age. The time before our bodies were upgraded to sync with the amazing invention called the Dreamscape. Thirty-eight years ago, people actually had to fall asleep on their own and, sometimes, they would toss and turn for hours. My grandparents said when sleep, in its mercy, did come, it often brought with it horrible images I’ve heard people used to call nightmares.
Life, Jersey Girl, sometimes pauses. It stops. Sometimes we don’t even realize how everything around us is moving so quickly while we’re standing in the middle of it, allowing it to pass us by. Most of us, if not all, just lose the why. Some of us never figure it out to begin with. We lose sight of the purpose that wakes us up every morning and pushes our day forward. We lose a sense of hope and the feeling of life in general. We view life as more of a test, one that’s trying to beat us down every day.
Even now I ask myself, what would have happened if I had gone to the cove with Tansy that Thursday afternoon, instead of going to the beach? If I had stayed away from the boat at the jetty, hidden from sight? If I had thrown the pearl back in the sea at the first opportunity when I had seen the look in Rammell’s eyes? But then I reason that it probably wouldn’t have made any difference. The Fates had spun my destiny, and I was tight roping along the threads that tangled in the sky, regardless of the drop below.
...The man who stood before her was taller and stranger than anyone she had ever encountered. His unkempt hair was a long dark brown, partially braided and twisted around twigs, the tips of his pointed ears poking between strands. His bare chest made her flush, but it was completely covered in green inked tattoos. Leather breeches creaked when he shifted. He held his hand out to her, uncurling fingers with long nails. "Aislin," he repeated, his voice gruff and purring, "do not be frightened. I have been waiting so long for you.
She'd spoken of their happiness as though it were an undeniable fact, no matter what happened--apart from everything else and not subject to it. It was a new idea for him, that happiness wasn't a mystical place to be reached or won--some bright terrain beyond the boundary of misery, a paradise waiting for them to find it--but something to carry doggedly with you through everything, as humble and ordinary as your gear and supplies. Food, weapons, happiness.With hope that the weapons could in time vanish from the picture.
The first thing I needed, possibly the only thing, was to kiss her and I did, for as long as I could. I let us both breathe for a minute, and I perched her on a counter so I could touch the face I’d missed so much. I poured every bit of frustration, anger, sadness, and worry into that kiss. Meg understood and received it all, pushing her fingers into my hair and giggling against my lips. I didn’t care that anybody passing by could be watching us through the window, or that I could fall right there and sleep for a week.
