There’s someone out there we’re based on. We learned that from the first Sardine book. Just like Dexter’s based on someone who probably worked at an Ecclesiastical Vestment shop.
Alright Mumma, I’ll give you a hug. You take my daylight from me, you take my body from me, and now you take my friend from me. But you’re that one habit I just can’t seem to kick.
Did he follow her around like a puppy? Watch over her? Do everything for her? Think of everything for her, but not really everything, only the things he could imagine? Perhaps she liked it for a while, and then didn’t.
The mushroom cloud bloomed in malignant symmetry. Luna City, twenty million people, gone. Across the conference table, Kev let out a gasp. Beside me, Cierra sobbed uncontrollably and bowed her head.
Hook a fish, and she’ll fight for her freedom. Remove her from seawater and she’s like a person pulled down into crushing dark where she’ll thrash for breath.
He took a bite of Mrs. Higginbottom’s cheese scone—it was magnificent, robust, and slightly stale—and then he began to laugh, a loud, raw sound that was immediately swallowed by the perfect, liberating silence of the winter storm.
Disoriented, the albino bull looked back. Shadows hovered like ghosts in a harrowing dream. Some seemed to pass through him. He twitched. It awakened in him a distant memory he had no desire to know.
We passed through the alleys with our sweat-soaked backpacks, past ten live chickens in a single cage, past animal organs soaking in red vinegar preservatives, past smiling grandmothers sitting on the same stool they’ve sat upon for two hundred years.
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