I know one thing you don't. I know the difference between Right and Wrong. They didn't teach you that at school.' Rose didn't answer; the woman was quite right: the two words meant nothing to her. Their taste was extinguished by stronger foods--Good ...
As I came down the stairs, all attention turned from the girls, and everyone looked to me as though this were some sort of drama taking place on a stage, and I was the scorned lover come to confront my erstwhile beloved. I was not. I was just a whore...
The Told shone brightly. They truly stood out among the Inhabitants for their life and love, and the power to rebrand words went with them. They employed every type of literary term to form new passages of powerful change, and they rose above the ten...
I read somewhere once that souls were like flowers,' said Priscilla. 'Then your soul is a golden narcissus,' said Anne, 'and Diana's is like a red, red rose. Jane's is an apple blossom, pink and wholesome and sweet.' 'And our own is a white violet, w...
But in the hours that were really minutes, he didn't beg me not to leave. He didn't say he hadn't meant it. When I stood, his gaze just followed me up. Then I was a shattered blown-glass blue rose, and every step away from him made my shards clatter ...
He hesitated for a moment. Then he said softly, "I love you, Mother." He took my hand and kissed it, and folded my fingers round the stem of the rose. He had stripped it of its thorns.
I had a dream about you. You smiled at me, and I blushed like a red rose. Then you started sniffing my cheeks and I realized you were a bee and I’d been deceived.
Before he got too far, he thought he smelled a fire. No sooner did he blink before he sensed something dire. He heard a sound and froze, danger tickling his nose. His ears perked up as tiny cries of capture rose.
Make a wish," said Indigo. Rose made a wish and then asked, "Why?" "That's what I always do. Wish on the moving ones." "Does it matter how fast they move?" "I don't think so." "Can you wish on airplanes, too?" "Oh, yes.
She grew up in the ordinary paradise of the English countryside. When she was five she walked to school, two miles, across meadows covered with cowslips, buttercups, daisies, vetch, rimmed by hedges full of blossom and then berries, blackthorn, hawth...
And remember, Wallis, there's something the matter with Mr. Allan's shutters. They won't always close the sunshine out as they should." Wallis almost winked, if an elderly, mutton-chopped servitor can be imagined as winking. "No, ma'am," he promised....
At which Charion Pratt blushed girlishly, to her own furious embarrassment, yet the eye she cast upon the little coxcomb was not unlike that which a certain toad had once cast upon her: for there is never anything but apparent paradox in the choices ...
You're beautiful in battle," said Dimitri. His cold voice carried to me clearly, even above the roar of combat. "Like an avenging angel come to deliver the justice of heaven." "Funny," I said, shifting my hold on the stake. "That kind of why I'm here...
Michael looked around the beautiful garden with its many colored flowers, fragrant lemon trees, the old statures of the gods dug from ancient ruins, other newer ones of holy saints, the rose-colored walls across the villa. It was a lovely setting for...
Caine usually woke from the recurring dream mid-air, having yet to be dashed upon the rocks, whimpering and panting like a child crying for his mother. Now he lifted his eyes to a dark, empty room in Jizan and the unusual, lingering scent of roses, a...
I'm nineteen tree rings and mashed acorns stop up my veins when I can't clot. Oh god, you beautiful person, I'll let you lick the salt off of my tattoos as if they were wounds, wounds made of ink and stories.
We are paint streaked runners, deafened by the cries of all the sad people. It's a powerful sound that practically yanks the tears right out of you. Sometimes, you just can't help but feel like a very small clam in a very big ocean.
I'd felt the pop of the needle sliding into my veins, like a fang into flesh. I'd been enveloped in the golden haze where nothing is wrong even when everything is falling apart. A dance with a hypodermic fiend, my hands in the claws of a vulture.
And then it changed. I wasn't letting him anymore. He was taking, pawing, grabbing. I pushed, I cried out, I squirmed, but like I said it's a shitty game and he didn't feel like playing by the rules anymore.
The Line welcomed rain and sun. Seeds germinated in mass graves, between skulls and femurs and broken pick handles, tendrils rose up alongside dog spikes and clavicles, thrust around teak sleepers and tibias, scapulas, vertebrae, fibulas and femurs.
She held up the pen and gave him a lazy grin. "It's a rose." He came close. "It's a pen." He tried to pluck it from her hand. "You are seriously lacking in imagination.
