Out here, I can feel the dead in the trees.
The world had teeth and it could bite you with them anytime it wanted. Trisha McFarland discovered this when she was nine years old.
Oh no, not now. Please not now. I’d just settled into the glass half empty, made myself at home.
The fire begins in the basement.
Does it hurt?
Yes and no. This is, after all, what I wanted.
A surgeon can kill you. Other doctors, to whom it doesn’t come as naturally, need a sustained and concerted effort, and even then they might have a hard time. But surgeons do it as quickly and easily as the flash of an operating light on sharpened steel, and you’ll sleep right through it.
A lullaby sung by the steak knife to my sister: Hush little baby, come find me. Sneak tiptoe quiet to the kitchen where I’m catching all that moonlight in my teeth.
I should say that I am not a nice person. Sometimes I try to be, but often I’m not.
Lynn was nine the first time she killed to defend the pond, the sweet smell of water luring the man to be picked off like the barn swallows that dared to swoop in for a drink.
Of all the things that drive men to sea, the most common disaster, I’ve come to learn, is women.
Hi guys –
I’m finally out of the hospital after spending the last three weeks in Intensive Care and, frankly, I’m contemplating de-friending all of you.
Most days I don’t miss being a cop; being a professor is a better job. But I do miss working with people willing to risk their life for me.
It is a beautiful day to get arrested: not too hot, not too cold, and a crisp breeze coming off of the waterfront.
Not every thirteen-year-old girl is accused of murder, brought to trial, and found guilty. But I was just such a girl, and my story is worth relating even if it did happen years ago.
Someone must have been telling lies about Josef K., he knew he had done nothing wrong but, one morning, he was arrested.
People disappear all the time. Ask any policeman. Better yet, ask a journalist. Disappearances are bread-and-butter to journalists.
The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.
You won’t get the satisfaction
Get a rise from my reaction
You’ll never hear your name at all
In my pretty melody
[Foreword:] Please spare Mockingbird an introduction. As a reader I loathe introductions.
Watch your step. Keep your wits about you; you will need them. This city I am bringing you to is vast and intricate, and you have not been here before.
There are people who can be happy anywhere. I am not one of them.
It’s a new elevator, freshly pressed to the rails, and it’s not built to fall this fast.
Rain drain my play away
Sun gun me down and burn me
Nature hates me today
My head distorts reality
Air-conditioned, odorless, illuminated by buzzing flourescent tubes, the American supermarket doesn’t present itself as having very much to do with Nature. And yet what is this place if not a landscape (man-made, it’s true) teeming with plants and animals?
As I see the first hint of sunlight, the death march begins.
“You’re lower than pond scum,” said my new boss, leading me through the boardroom of LF Rothschild for the first time. “You got a problem with that, Jordan?”
“No,” I replied, “no problem.”