Officially, the head of our household is Uncle John, who is Aunt Charlotte's brother and Veronica's father (and the King of Montmaray), but he's rather distracted on his good days, and downright alarming on his bad ones.
I sit up and switch on the bedside light. There's a pen, but no paper, so on the wall behind me I write, I want to feel the weight of a boy on top of me.
It was like watching the mating rituals of retarded birds, clumsily stepping the wrong patterns around each other over and over again.
It wasn't mine. I didn't drop it, but the boy in the queue said I did. It was a negative of a photograph, one on its own, all scratched and beaten up.
Maybe people weren't as beautiful as back during the Prettytime, but parties were a lot more interesting.
I know what people say. They reckon I'm simple. Call me dumb. Retard. Spastic.
…the only thing the population had to fear, was fear itself. The true danger humanity faced during this period was the shrinking of its own spirit.
Now me, I'm not an alpha obviously. I'm more like one of the obscure ones in the middle that no one's ever heard of - omicron or something.
Then nothing happens for about a hundred years in this goddamn story, though it feels like a million and a half...
His hands are slotted loosely in his pockets, as though he hasn't just murdered Ian Cartwright, too.
I know what a girl is. Course I do. I seen ‘em in the Noise of their fathers in town, mourned like their wives but not nearly so often.
"Great," I said. "The world's coming to an end, and we're fixing it with Band-Aids."
For the first time, I allowed for the possibility that I had forgotton everything from the last four years.
Dud says, 'We're not gay,' probably mishearing the last word, which is crunched and skewed by Tom's accent.
When the news swept the little town of Wattleton that sixteen-year-old Anne-Marie Cooper had been raped on her way home from school one summer afternoon, some townsfolk said they weren't surprised.
Alex Rider would never forget the moment of impact, the first shock as the parachute opened and the second - more jolting still - as the module that had carried him back from outer space crashed into the sea.
It's funny how these days, when every household has its own intercontinental ballistic missile, you hardly even think about them.
My brother Kimlan works all night fixing the road. He wears a shirt that reflects the light from the cars. The boss man says that if he does not wear that shirt, no one will be able to see him unless he smiles.
|
Search Result |