Names into the Silence

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We learned to whisper almost without sound. In the semidarkness we could stretch out our arms, when the Aunts weren’t looking, and touch each other’s hands across space. We learned to lip-read, our heads flat on the beds, turned sideways, watching each other’s mouths. In this way we exchanged names, from bed to bed: Alma. Janine. Dolores. Moira. June.

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood

Learning from Failure

It didn’t matter, but Sabik had just learned from his error. What felt like sneaking through enemy territory was actually a leash leading him in. What felt like craftily avoiding mines and sensors in an attempt to gather intelligence against their enemy was a carefully crafted path by his enemy. What felt like success was actually failure. He allowed himself to be led into a rebel kill zone like an animal to its slaughter. But could he escape?

Doom Sayer by Thane Keller

Understanding Right and Wrong

It was only when I realized that I was a slave and not a slaver’s apprentice that I understood that what Archie was doing was a great wrong. Right and wrong had no meaning in my life until I was almost a woman. I learned some of it from my father, but he was not a talkative man. I began to understand when I knew the horsewomen, but I could never see it the way they did. They didn’t know what I knew.

The Book of Flora (The Road to Nowhere 3) by Meg Elison

Assholes Remain Assholes

“I don’t understand it,” Katie went on. “A few months ago, people were literally dying in the street. Every one of us lost family, friends, neighbors. We’re all we have left, but people like the Mercers, like Kurt Rove, belittle and bad-talk those of us who, well, have something that might help get all of us through. Because they’re different.”

“I have a theory,” Arlys began. “Major, monumental crises bring out the best or the worst in us — sometimes both. And sometimes those major, monumental crises have no effect on certain types. Which means, no matter what the circumstances, assholes remain assholes.”

Year One (Chronicles of The One) by Nora Roberts

The Story Is All We Have

I cannot begin at the beginning; I wasn’t there. I cannot even begin at one particular moment in time; I do not remember how this got started. Neither does anybody else. We only know the story we are given, unless someone writes the truth of it down. And even then, it isn’t the whole truth. Only theirs. As this is mine.

I can only tell you what was told to me, and most of that was probably lies. The person who told me who I was and showed me my place in the world very seldom told the truth. I still believe that telling the story from the beginning is the only way to do it.

Whether it is true or not, it is the only story I have.

My name is Flora. This book is my life.

The Book of Flora (The Road to Nowhere 3) by Meg Elison

Freaking Awesome

Saw the light shimmer around him , heard the voice clear and cool in his head . I’m Flynn .

“His name is Flynn.”

“Huh? How do you know?”

“He just told me. He has elfin blood.”

“He has … He’s an elf?” Mouth gaping open, Eddie swiveled around to look back . “Like , you know , Will Ferrell in the movie?”

With a delight he’d all but forgotten,  Max laughed. “Christ, Eddie, you never fail me. No , not like that. He’s magickal, and I have a strong feeling if we’d had any thoughts about causing trouble back there, we wouldn’t be driving away with supplies and propane.”

“Ain’t that some shit? I met a fucking elf. Well, I guess he’ll be all right then . And he’s got that big dog, too.”

“That’s not a dog. His name says what he is. Lupa. Wolf.”

“Now you’re shitting me. You’re not shitting me,” Eddie realized . “I gave a Milk-Bone to a wolf? I petted a wolf? That is freaking awesome! ”

“It’s a brave new world , Eddie.” Max made the turn at the bend . “It’s a brave new fucking world.”

Year One (Chronicles of The One) by Nora Roberts

Books are Fragile

But books are so fragile. Paper and leather and wood cannot stand up to fire or water or time.

And there is one thing I know is true in this world: only what is remembered survives. Only what is written has a chance in the future. People forget. Rivers rise. Stories and songs are snuffed out every time some town takes a fever or loses to a man with a little power.

Destruction is common. Creation is rare.

Because I know this truth, I must do two things. First, I must collect and keep as many pieces of record and evidence as I can, to ensure that they do not pass out of this world. Second, I must write my own record so that it survives. I must write the people in my life into the record as well, just as the Midwife did, so that they survive, too. I sometimes do as she did, putting the book into their hands. I write it for them. I did it more when I was younger. I trusted too much then.

The Book of Flora (The Road to Nowhere 3) by Meg Elison

Prepare For The Worst

“You do whatever you can to get to Chuck . If he doesn’t show by five , find a safe place . Find more like you, Fred, and get out.”

“Would you leave me behind?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not telling the truth. I can hear it in your voice . We’re both going to get to Chuck. You have to think of the positive, of the light, or the dark takes over.”

You have to prepare for the worst, Arlys thought, the incomprehensible worst or you could die in the dark.

Year One (Chronicles of The One) by Nora Roberts

Double Lock

The flimsy front door of their hut stood open. On Flade Street, they’d had a double lock. Here, they had double protection too. No burglars, and nothing to steal.

Surviving Minimized by Andrea White

Vampires Don’t Eat

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Amazon.com

There’s an abiding myth that vampires are afraid of garlic. This, of course, is a lie. The garlic myth was triggered hundreds of years ago, when a nameless vampire joked about not attacking some woman because she smelled of garlic. I mean, how could anyone be terrified of a culinary herb? It’s true that garlic makes vampires sick. But in that respect it’s no different from bread or bacon or Brussels sprouts. A vampire’s stomach isn’t capable of digesting normal food; one slice of watermelon could put half a dozen vampires in bed for a week.

The Reformed Vampire Support Group by Catherine Jinks