Blink Twice Quotes

Fourteen hundred and thirty-one.” I blinked. “What's that?” “The year I was born, which is not, as you'll note, yesterday.

I can describe an axe entering a human skull in great explicit detail and no one will blink twice at it. I provide a similar description, just as detailed, of a penis entering a vagina, and I get letters about it and people swearing off. To my mind this is kind of frustrating, it’s madness. Ultimately, in the history of [the] world, penises entering vaginas have given a lot of people a lot of pleasure; axes entering skulls, well, not so much.

What was the name of Pygmalion's sister?" She blinked, twice, obviously surprised. "Ummm," she said, keeping her eyes on me. "I don't know." Rogerson did," I told her. "Rogerson knew everything.

Everyone stopped to blink at that for a second. I mean, come on. Impaled by a guided frozen turkey missile. Even by the standards of the quasi-immortal creatures of the night, that ain't something you see twice. "For my next trick," I panted into the startled silence, "anvils.

Hi. Cat was just keeping me company until you came back.” He glanced in the direction she’d just disappeared to before returning his attention to me. “Fourteen hundred and thirty-one." I blinked. "What's that?" "The year I was born, which is not, as you'll note, yesterday.

I read a book while you were sleeping,” Mosscap said, holding up its pocket computer. “And I would really like to discuss it with you.” Dex blinked twice. “You woke me up to talk about a book?

This isn't sex." I blinked. "Oh. Then what is it?" "An emergency!" I started to argue and then thought twice about it. Considering what Mircea would do to Pritkin if he ever found out about this...Yeah. Emergency sounded good.

Blink twice if you have been kidnapped.” Lailah grinned and sent Ash a long, sideways look. “Or just blink.” I almost blinked because it was clear they were teasing Ash—a Primal who had gods strung up on the walls outside his palace.

Hey, Ivashkov! Open up. " Avery argued. She kept pounding on the door and yelling, and finally, Adrian answered. His hair stuck up at odd angles, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He'd drunk twice as much as Lissa last night. "What . . . ?" He blinked. "Shouldn't you guys be in class? Oh God. I didn't sleep that much, did I? " "Let us in, " said Avery, pushing past. "We've got refugees from a fire here. " She flounced onto his couch, making herself at home while he continued staring. Lissa and Christian joined her. "Avery sprang the fire alarm, " explained Lissa. "Nice work, " said Adrian, collapsing into a fluffy chair. "But why'd you have to come here? Is this the only place that's not burning down? " Avery batted her eyelashes at him. "Aren't you happy to see us? " He eyed her speculatively for a moment. "Always happy to see you.

Blink twice and chase the train!

Blink twice if you're still in love with me.

Sometimes it took death for me to see life, don't live with regrets keep your head high. In a world filled with beauty I don't want to blink twice; soak up every moment because you can't stop time.

I inhaled sharply as I felt the hot burn of anger break through the walls that his father had built. “Yes, here we all stand, apparently determined to irritate the hell out of one another. Not me. I don’t want to irritate anyone— you know, the person who was attacked not once but twice and then shot in the chest with a crossbow,” I snapped, and both their gazes shot to me. “And yet, I’m the one who has to tell you two to knock it the hell off.” The King blinked at me. “Why am I reminded of your mother, Cas?” “Because that sounds like something she’d say,” he replied

We are all gone in the blink of an eye, and there is nothing to do but live while you’re waiting.

She glanced rapidly between them, blinking and hoping her double vision would go away. They were glaring at each other. Would they fight? If she saw her own double she probably be tempted to punch it once or twice. Especially today. For being so stupid.

Lok’tar ogar!” The daemon holding me pulled my head back, exposing my throat. “Victory or death,” I retorted at my captor hoarsely. “For the Horde. And for the record, shouting World of Warcraft battle cries kind of kills the whole ‘imminent death’ expectation.” The daemon paused. “What server are you on?” he demanded. “Blackhand.” “Righteous. Guild?” I couldn’t imagine what the hell that mattered at this point, but it was keeping me alive so that was a bonus. I’d gladly spit out the rest of my Warcraft stats if it bought me a few more minutes. “Yeah,” I coughed. “ElfhunterBitches.” He blinked and then grinned, tapping himself on the chest. “No shit. I’m TartBarbie. Undead DeathKnight.” I stared at him. “TB? Seriously? I’m Baconator. Blelf Warlock. You did a hell of a job tanking on that raid the other night.” “Yeah, I am pretty awesome.” He glanced over his shoulder, releasing me. “Look, if I’d known it was you, I’d never have agreed to this. Go on.” He nudged me with a leather boot. “I’ll tell them you got away.” I didn’t have to be told twice. “Thanks,” I said softly. “I’ll make it up to you, somehow.” “No worries.” He winked. “See you next Thursday.

What are the tales?" Adrienne asked wryly. "His exploits are legendary!" "His conquests are legion. 'Tis rumored he's traveled the world accompanied by only the most beautiful lasses." "'Tis said there isna a comely lass in all of Scotia he hasna tumbled" "in England, too!" "and he canna recall any of their names." "He is said to have godlike beauty, and a practiced hand in the fine art of seduction." "He is fabulously wealthy and rumors say his castle is luxurious beyond compare." Adrienne blinked. "Wonderful. A materialistic, unfaithfill, beautiful playboy of a self-indulged, inconsiderate man with a bad memory. And he's all mine. Dear sweet God, what have I done to deserve this?" she wondered aloud. Twice, she brooded privately.

She blinked once, then twice, and yet again, sure what she viewed was just another part of this fantasy world that she had stepped into when her feet touched the green grass of Ireland.

Isn't she gorgeous, Ken?" "Too pretty for Thatch, that's for damn sure.," Ken remarked with a smurk. "Seriously, Cassie? Is he blackmailing you? Do we need to alert the authorities? Blink twice if he kidnapped you. Three times if you fear for you life.

GO BACK TO DALLAS!” the man sitting somewhere behind us yelled again, and the hold Aiden still had on the back of my neck tightened imperceptibly. “Don’t bother, Van,” he demanded, pokerfaced. “I’m not going to say anything,” I said, even as I reached up with the hand furthest away from him and put it behind my head, extending my middle finger in hopes that the idiot yelling would see it. Those brown eyes blinked. “You just flipped him off, didn’t you?” Yeah, my mouth dropped open. “How do you know when I do that?” My tone was just as astonished as it should be. “I know everything.” He said it like he really believed it. I groaned and cast him a long look. “You really want to play this game?” “I play games for a living, Van.” I couldn’t stand him sometimes. My eyes crossed in annoyance. “When is my birthday?” He stared at me. “See?” “March third, Muffin.” What in the hell? “See?” he mocked me. Who was this man and where was the Aiden I knew? “How old am I?” I kept going hesitantly. “Twenty-six.” “How do you know this?” I asked him slowly. “I pay attention,” The Wall of Winnipeg stated. I was starting to think he was right. Then, as if to really seal the deal I didn’t know was resting between us, he said, “You like waffles, root beer, and Dr. Pepper. You only drink light beer. You put cinnamon in your coffee. You eat too much cheese. Your left knee always aches. You have three sisters I hope I never meet and one brother. You were born in El Paso. You’re obsessed with your work. You start picking at the corner of your eye when you feel uncomfortable or fool around with your glasses. You can’t see things up close, and you’re terrified of the dark.” He raised those thick eyebrows. “Anything else?” Yeah, I only managed to say one word. “No.” How did he know all this stuff? How? Unsure of how I was feeling, I coughed and started to reach up to mess with my glasses before I realized what I was doing and snuck my hand under my thigh, ignoring the knowing look on Aiden’s dumb face. “I know a lot about you too. Don’t think you’re cool or special.” “I know, Van.” His thumb massaged me again for all of about three seconds. “You know more about me than anyone else does.” A sudden memory of the night in my bed where he’d admitted his fear as a kid pecked at my brain, relaxing me, making me smile. “I really do, don’t I?” The expression on his face was like he was torn between being okay with the idea and being completely against it. Leaning in close to him again, I winked. “I’m taking your love of MILF porn to the grave with me, don’t worry.” He stared at me, unblinking, unflinching. And then: “I’ll cut the power at the house when you’re in the shower,” he said so evenly, so crisply, it took me a second to realize he was threatening me… And when it finally did hit me, I burst out laughing, smacking his inner thigh without thinking twice about it. “Who does that?” Aiden Graves, husband of mine, said it, “Me.” Then the words were out of my mouth before I could control them. “And you know what I’ll do? I’ll go sneak into bed with you, so ha.” What the hell had I just said? What in the ever-loving hell had I just said? “If you think I’m supposed to be scared…” He leaned forward so our faces were only a couple of inches away. The hand on my neck and the finger pads lining the back of my ear stayed where they were. “I’m not

But what Jane hadn’t known about Michael Hurst until the day she stepped into his tent was that this adventurous, driven, gruff, brilliant explorer was also handsome. Blink-twice-and-try-to-breathe-and-still-think-you’re-seeing-an-angel handsome.

Just start somewhere," Dr. Marshall had said to me as I ground a banana-pineapple one to bits between my teeth. "It doesn't have to be at the beginning." She'd pulled her legs up, Indian-style, letting the legal pad she'd been holding drop to the floor. "I thought everything always had to start at the beginning," I said. "Not in this room," she said easily. "Go ahead, Caitlin. Just tell me one thing. It gets easier, I promise. The first thing is always the hardest." I looked down at my hands, stained mildly red from the particularly sticky watermelon Rancher. "Okay," I said, reaching forward to take another one out of the bowl, just in case. She was already sitting back in her chair, readying herself for whatever glimpse I would give her into the mess I'd become. "What was the name of Pygmalion's sister?" She blinked, twice, obviously surprised. "Ummm," she said, keeping her eyes on me. "I don't know." "Rogerson did," I told her. "Rogerson knew everything.

The air is so dangerous. Blink twice you're off the path.

If you're not lonely, then what are you?' The goddess blinked once or twice as she tried to find her answer. 'I helped so many men find their way home,' she said. 'Because they had lost themselves on a quest or in a war and all they wanted was to return home. No matter what adventures they had, what riches they held, what wonders they saw, what they really wanted was to remember those things from the safety of their homes.

But that’s not what I’m trying to tell you,” Violet said, her eyes taking on a slightly determined expression. “What I’m trying to say is that when you were born, and they put you into my arms—it’s strange, because for some reason I was so convinced you would look just like your father. I thought for certain I would look down and see his face, and it would be some sort of sign from heaven.” Hyacinth’s breath caught as she watched her, and she wondered why her mother had never told her this story. And why she’d never asked. “But you didn’t,” Violet continued. “You looked rather like me. And then—oh my, I remember this as if it were yesterday—you looked into my eyes, and you blinked. Twice.” “Twice?” Hyacinth echoed, wondering why this was important. “Twice.” Violet looked at her, her lips curving into a funny little smile. “I only remember it because you looked so deliberate. It was the strangest thing. You gave me a look as if to say, ‘I know exactly what I’m doing.’ ” A little burst of air rushed past Hyacinth’s lips, and she realized it was a laugh. A small one, the kind that takes a body by surprise. “And then you let out a wail,” Violet said, shaking her head. “My heavens, I thought you were going to shake the paint right off the walls. And I smiled. It was the first time since your father died that I smiled.” Violet took a breath, then reached for her tea. Hyacinth watched as her mother composed herself, wanting desperately to ask her to continue, but somehow knowing the moment called for silence. For a full minute Hyacinth waited, and then finally her mother said, softly, “And from that moment on, you were so dear to me. I love all my children, but you…” She looked up, her eyes catching Hyacinth’s. “You saved me.” Something squeezed in Hyacinth’s chest. She couldn’t quite move, couldn’t quite breathe. She could only watch her mother’s face, listen to her words, and be so very, very grateful that she’d been lucky enough to be her child. “In some ways I was a little too protective of you,” Violet said, her lips forming the tiniest of smiles, “and at the same time too lenient. You were so exuberant, so completely sure of who you were and how you fit into the world around you. You were a force of nature, and I didn’t want to clip your wings.” “Thank you,” Hyacinth whispered, but the words were so soft, she wasn’t even sure she’d said them aloud.

I'm coming to pick you up. We now have plans." "We do?" I blinked once and then twice at my fuzzy reflection in the bathroom mirror. "I just got out of the shower." "Well, you're going to need to put some clothes on, because I doubt Layla will be thrilled if I pick you up and you're naked as the day you were hatched out of a little Trueborn egg.

Is he safe?" I whispered as soon as the baker was out of earshot. "I very much doubt it," Hal said in a low voice. I frowned. "You're meant to say 'yes, I'd trust him with my life.' That sort of thing. Something reassuring." He blinked twice at me. "I beg your pardon. Next time I'll read between your very vague lines, and lie. Will that make you happy?

Do you realize what a beacon you’ve become?” “A—I beg your pardon?” “A beacon of hope,” says the woman, smiling. “As soon as we announced we’d be doing this interview, our viewers started calling in, e-mails, text messages, telling us you’re an angel, a talisman of goodness . . .” Ma makes a face. “All I did was I survived, and I did a pretty good job of raising Jack. A good enough job.” “You’re very modest.” “No, what I am is irritated, actually.” The puffy-hair woman blinks twice. “All this reverential—I’m not a saint.” Ma’s voice is getting loud again. “I wish people would stop treating us like we’re the only ones who ever lived through something terrible. I’ve been finding stuff on the Internet you wouldn’t believe.” “Other cases like yours?” “Yeah, but not just—I mean, of course when I woke up in that shed, I thought nobody’d ever had it as bad as me. But the thing is, slavery’s not a new invention. And solitary confinement—did you know, in America we’ve got more than twenty-five thousand prisoners in isolation cells? Some of them for more than twenty years.” Her hand is pointing at the puffy-hair woman. “As for kids—there’s places where babies lie in orphanages five to a cot with pacifiers taped into their mouths, kids getting raped by Daddy every night, kids in prisons, whatever, making carpets till they go blind—

Sebastian looked alarmed at her stiffness, but Eric took it in and chuckled. "Riding astride would have been easier," he said. "You put twice the strain on yourself with that unnatural position." "Oh, I know," she replied with a grimace. "Every muscle told me about it this morning, and I actually DID have a hot soak before I went to bed." Sebastian looked blankly at the two of them for a moment, then blinked and looked relieved. "Oh, you're saddle sore! I'm sorry--

So you banned all those books, Sadie said, and the teacher had blinked twice at her over her glasses. Oh no, sweetie, she said. People think that sometimes, but no. No one bans anything. Haven’t you ever heard of the Bill of Rights? The class giggled, and Sadie flushed. Every school makes its own independent judgments, the teacher said.

Fourteen hundred and thirty-one.” I blinked. “What’s that?” “The year I was born, which is not, as you’ll note, yesterday.

You feel so good." she moans. "Could do this all day...all night." "Word," she sings out, and I blink at her. Once. Twice. Did she just say "word"?

She sighed. “You’re both so pretty you make my eyes hurt.” She blinked twice. “Oh. I think I might be drunk.

Are you crying?” Clearing my throat, I blinked hard twice, lowering my gaze to the small cleft in the German’s chin. “No.” His fingers went up to push at my shoulder lightly. “Stop it.

What are you going to do for school?" "Go to FSU with Tash." "What if there was no Tash? What would you do then?" "I don't know," she murmurs. "Maybe go wherever Gabe goes. Or come to New York with you." It fills me with warmth, running liquid through me, but it won't thaw my mind. "Why does it have to be, like, based off someone else? Why can't you just do what you want?" "What I want is to be around people I care about." "Oh." I blink at the ceiling once, twice, eyelids getting heavy, eyes getting fuzzy. It makes sense when she says it like that.

Glaring, Kai leaned back against the headrest. "I'm already uncomfortable with you piloting this ship and being in control of my life. Try not to make it worse." "Why does everyone think I'm such a bad pilot?" "Cinder told me as much." "Well, tell Cinder I'm perfectly capable of flying a blasted podship without killing anyone. My flight instructor at the Andromeda - which is a very prestigious military academy in the Republic, I will have you know-" "I know what Andromeda Academy is." "Yeah, well, my flight instructor said I was a natural." "Right," Kai drawled. "Was that the same flight instructor who wrote in you official report about your inattentiveness, refusal to take safety precautions seriously, and overconfident attitude that often bordered on ... what was the word she used>? 'Fool-hardy', I think?" "Oh, yeah. Commander Reid. She had a thing for me." The radar blinked, picking up a cruiser in the far distance, and Thorne deftly changed directions to keep them out of its course. "I didn't realize I had a royal stalker. I'm flattered, Your Majesty." "Even better - you had an entire government team assigned to digging up information on you. They reported twice daily for over a week. You did run off with the most-wanted criminal in the world, after all.

Anne blinks once, twice then to my relief, speaks to me. “Oh. Okay then.” I smile as much as I can with a mouth that’s hardly more than two folds in fabric. She accepts me.  My Anne, of course, would accept me. She’s meant for me. My Anne is… …on the floor. She fainted. Damn.

I turned around to examine the rest of my temporary prison, and saw an enormous golden eye staring at me, less than ten feet away from where I stood. I did what any sensible witch would do in my circumstance. I screamed like a scared little girl. The eye blinked. Once, twice, and then shifted as the dragon turned its head toward me, regarding me with both golden eyes. “I could have eaten you, you know.” I nodded numbly and stammered, “Thank you for not doing that.” I knew dragons existed in Faerie, though I’d never seen one before. Dragons are reclusive as a rule and tend to guard their privacy ferociously, so only the overly brave or overly stupid seek them out on purpose. The creature was huge, taking up a good portion of the room with its bulk. Black scales covered its body, and leathery wings were folded against its back. Smoke puffed out of its nostrils for a moment, and my stomach leapt in panic. “I only eat virgins though.” I stared at the dragon in disbelief, feeling the inexplicable urge to defend my past sexual history. My mouth worked as I struggled to find an appropriate response, and I thought I saw a glint of humor in its golden gaze.

Have you ever known there was something you needed to do, but found yourself dreading it with everything you were?" "Once or twice," he said. "What did you do?" Runach looked at her steadily. "I did what needed to be done." "Was the price steep?" "Very." Aisling clutched her own bow, wishing her task was nothing more than learning to place an arrow where she wanted it to land. "Did you ever want to run?" She whispered. He smiled, but it was a pained smile. "I'm not sure I want to answer that." "Do you think Heroes ever want to run...?" "Only if they come from Neroche." She blinked, then smiled.

Where did she come from?” Sanja stood, her jaw set. “The Mouth of Flowers. Menlas bought me from the child-catcher as a sacrifice to bring them back, so Kaiisteron could be in my body and Menlas could make him a slave.” She added decisively, “So fuck you.” Ziede said, “Sanja, if you’re going to swear, don’t do it in Old Imperial. If you use their curses, you’ll take on their beliefs.” Sanja blinked, distracted by that thought. “That’s the only language I know,” she pointed out. Kai told her the Saredi word that meant “go into the wetland and eat shit-mud.” Sanja repeated it twice, trying to get the vowels right.

Now that Dad was gone I was starting to see how mortality was bound up in things like that cold, arc-lit sky. How the world is full of signs and wonders that come, and go, and if you are lucky you might see them. Once, twice. Perhaps never again. The albums on my mother’s shelves are full of family photographs. But also other things. A starling with a crooked beak. A day of hoarfrost and smoke. A cherry tree thick with blossom. Thunderclouds, lightning strikes, comets and eclipses: celestial events terrifying in their blind distances but reassuring you, too, that the world is for ever, though you are only a blink in its course.

I don't feel like getting laughed at. I'm getting in the shower and going to bed." She grabs my arm. "What do you mean laughed at? Why would I laugh?" Aside from the fact that she's already laughed twice in this conversation? I raise a skeptical brow but sit back down. After a deep breath, I blurt, "Because that's what you do every time I try to talk to you." She blinks. "Since when do you ever try to talk to me?" she says quietly. Huh. She has a good point. When she puts it like that, it doesn't really sound fair of me. I open and shut my mouth a couple times. What, am I supposed to say, "Since I was four"? After all, she's the reason I don't talk to her, right?

Are you crying?” Clearing my throat, I blinked hard twice, lowering my gaze to the small cleft in the German’s chin. “No.” His fingers went up to push at my shoulder lightly. “Stop it.” I lifted my chin and pushed his shoulder right back, sniffling while doing it. “You stop it. I’m not crying.” “I have two eyes,” he replied, looking down at me with a troubled expression on his face.

Armani halted, thinking twice about making her way over there, but she pushed forward not wanting to believe something was wrong. There was nothing worse than walking into a nightmare. And Armani just did. The air in her lungs seized when she saw her draped all over him. She blinked a few times, but Lily was still pressing her body all over Rafael. Armani wanted to kill her, right then and there.

I shifted on the mattress, kneeling in front of him as I pumped him in slow strokes. My entire body throbbed with uncontrollable need, my erection heavy between my legs. I ignored it, though. Jamie blinked twice when I rose above him, and I watched his face, gauging his reaction. He didn’t look horrified. He looked turned on. I’d been fantasizing about this moment for years. Couldn’t believe it was really here. “What are you waiting for, Ryan? Suck it already.

Let’s say that the average age in the audience is twenty-five years. Six hundred times twenty-five equals fifteen thousand years of human experience assembled in that darkness—well over twice the length of recorded human history of hopes, dreams, disappointments, exultation, tragedy. All focused on the same series of images and sounds, all brought there by the urge, however inchoate, to open up and experience as intensely as possible something beyond their ordinary lives.

I resolved to come right to the point. "Hello," I said as coldly as possible, "we've got to talk." "Yes, Bob," he said quietly, "what's on your mind?" I shut my eyes for a moment, letting the raging frustration well up inside, then stared angrily at the psychiatrist. "Look, I've been religious about this recovery business. I go to AA meetings daily and to your sessions twice a week. I know it's good that I've stopped drinking. But every other aspect of my life feels the same as it did before. No, it's worse. I hate my life. I hate myself." Suddenly I felt a slight warmth in my face, blinked my eyes a bit, and then stared at him. "Bob, I'm afraid our time's up," Smith said in a matter-of-fact style. "Time's up?" I exclaimed. "I just got here." "No." He shook his head, glancing at his clock. "It's been fifty minutes. You don't remember anything?" "I remember everything. I was just telling you that these sessions don't seem to be working for me." Smith paused to choose his words very carefully. "Do you know a very angry boy named 'Tommy'?" "No," I said in bewilderment, "except for my cousin Tommy whom I haven't seen in twenty years..." "No." He stopped me short. "This Tommy's not your cousin. I spent this last fifty minutes talking with another Tommy. He's full of anger. And he's inside of you." "You're kidding?" "No, I'm not. Look. I want to take a little time to think over what happened today. And don't worry about this. I'll set up an emergency session with you tomorrow. We'll deal with it then." Robert This is Robert speaking. Today I'm the only personality who is strongly visible inside and outside. My own term for such an MPD role is dominant personality. Fifteen years ago, I rarely appeared on the outside, though I had considerable influence on the inside; back then, I was what one might call a "recessive personality." My passage from "recessive" to "dominant" is a key part of our story; be patient, you'll learn lots more about me later on. Indeed, since you will meet all eleven personalities who once roamed about, it gets a bit complex in the first half of this book; but don't worry, you don't have to remember them all, and it gets sorted out in the last half of the book. You may be wondering -- if not "Robert," who, then, was the dominant MPD personality back in the 1980s and earlier? His name was "Bob," and his dominance amounted to a long reign, from the early 1960s to the early 1990s. Since "Robert B. Oxnam" was born in 1942, you can see that "Bob" was in command from early to middle adulthood. Although he was the dominant MPD personality for thirty years, Bob did not have a clue that he was afflicted by multiple personality disorder until 1990, the very last year of his dominance. That was the fateful moment when Bob first heard that he had an "angry boy named Tommy" inside of him. How, you might ask, can someone have MPD for half a lifetime without knowing it? And even if he didn't know it, didn't others around him spot it? To outsiders, this is one of the most perplexing aspects of MPD. Multiple personality is an extreme disorder, and yet it can go undetected for decades, by the patient, by family and close friends, even by trained therapists. Part of the explanation is the very nature of the disorder itself: MPD thrives on secrecy because the dissociative individual is repressing a terrible inner secret. The MPD individual becomes so skilled in hiding from himself that he becomes a specialist, often unknowingly, in hiding from others. Part of the explanation is rooted in outside observers: MPD often manifests itself in other behaviors, frequently addiction and emotional outbursts, which are wrongly seen as the "real problem." The fact of the matter is that Bob did not see himself as the dominant personality inside Robert B. Oxnam. Instead, he saw himself as a whole person. In his mind, Bob was merely a nickname for Bob Oxnam, Robert Oxnam, Dr. Robert B. Oxnam, PhD.

You’re a werewolf,” said Nemane. “Samuel Cornick.” There was a pause. “The Marrok is Bran Cornick.” I kept my gaze on Samuel. “I was just explaining to Dr. Altman why it would be inadvisable for them to eliminate me even though I’m sticking my nose in their business.” Comprehension lit his eyes, which he narrowed at the fae. “Killing Mercy would be a mistake,” he growled. “My da had Mercy raised in our pack and he couldn’t love Mercy more if she were his daughter. For her he would declare open war with the fae and damned be the consequences. You can call him and ask, if you doubt my word.” I’d expected Samuel to defend me—and the fae could not afford to hurt the son of the Marrok, not unless the stakes were a lot higher. I’d counted on that to keep Samuel safe or I’d have found some way to keep him out of it. But the Marrok… I’d always thought I was an annoyance, the only one Bran couldn’t count on for instant obedience. He’d been protective, still was—but his protective instinct was one of the things that made him dominant. I’d thought I was just one more person he had to take care of. But it was as impossible to doubt the truth in Samuel’s voice as it was to believe that he’d be mistaken about Bran. I was glad that Samuel was focused on Nemane, who had risen to her feet when Samuel began speaking. While I blinked back stupid tears, she leaned on the walking stick and said, “Is that so?” “Adam Hauptman, the Columbia Basin Pack’s Alpha, has named Mercy his mate,” continued Samuel grimly. Nemane smiled suddenly, the expression flowing across her face, giving it a delicate beauty I hadn’t noticed before. “I like you,” she said to me. “You play an underhanded and subtle game—and like Coyote, you shake up the order of the world.” She laughed. “Coyote indeed. Good for you. Good for you. I don’t know what else you’ll run into—but I’ll let the Others know what they are dealing with.” She tapped the walking stick on the floor twice. Then, almost to herself, she murmured, “Perhaps…perhaps this won’t be a disaster after all.

Hey, doll face…” “Haidyn?” I yank the phone from Kashton’s hands and look at the screen to see it’s a video. He’s sitting on my couch, dressed in nothing but a pair of jeans. The phone is propped up against something on the coffee table. I place my hand over my mouth to hold in my sob at the sight of him. This was last night…when I saw my phone on the coffee table when he stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in my living room. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you goodbye. But in our life, we rarely get what we want.” A soft smile tugs at his lips. “You were my exception.” He bows his head, his right hand twirling his wedding ring around his finger as he looks at it. “I knew that you were too good for me the moment I first saw you. That I’d never live up to the man you’d deserve. So I let you go…but when you were placed back in my life, I couldn’t stop myself.” He looks back at the phone and gives a soft smile. Back in his life? “I’ve done a lot of unforgivable shit in my life, but the best thing I ever did was make you my wife. I wish I could have done it differently. You deserved so much more than what I gave you. I should have gotten down on one knee and begged you to spend the rest of your life with me. I should have told you how much you changed me. That you showed me what being alive truly felt like. I always felt like I was missing something…my life was boring. Same thing over and over. And then you walked into my life with that amazing smile and when I looked into your eyes—I saw a future that I never thought existed…not for a man like me, anyway.” A lump forms in my throat, and I blink to clear the tears from my eyes so I can see him on the screen. “I knew you’d never give a man like me the chance at forever. So I forced your hand. I had to have Adam help me.” I look up at Adam, and his green eyes are already on mine. Blinking the fresh tears away, I drop mine back to the phone. “Because I knew that’d be the only way I’d ever get you. And I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be your husband.” He looks away from the camera as if he can’t look at me, and my chest tightens. How dare he leave me this memory? Why break my heart twice? When I found him in the living room and asked if he regretted marrying me…he had just left me this video. He knew then exactly what he was going to do. His blue eyes come back to the screen, meeting mine once again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the forever you deserved, doll face. But I promise I gave you all I had left to offer.” The knot grows in my throat, and I can’t hold back the sob anymore as I remember what he said when I told him I chose to be with him forever. To some, forever is only a matter of seconds. “Please know that I loved you more than anything in this world…and when I walk out this door, I’m leaving a piece of myself behind with you because nothing short of forever would have been enough." He smiles, and I try to catch my breath. "You'll be safe at Carnage and my brothers will protect you." He leans forward and picks up the phone before speaking. "I love you, Charlotte.

I watched, paralyzed, as Nritti sank the blade into his heart. Amar shuddered, his body tense. The muscles of his neck stood out in sharp relief. His eyes rolled back, the whites of his sockets glistening before they focused on me. “Jaani,” he said, a shaky smile curling his lips. Amar tapped his lips twice, one hand fluttering to his heart. And then he went still. I blinked back tears, and a scream wrenched from my throat. Grief cut me, separating me like a soul from its body. I was nothing more than a being of fury and heartbreak.

No,” Harry said, crossing his arms on his chest. “I’ve thought about how we’ll catch this guy, not about how I’m going to justify not catching him.” Harry knew it was a cheap shot, but the words hit home. Hagen blinked twice. Opened his mouth and shut it again, and Harry instantly felt ashamed. Why did he always have to instigate these childish, meaningless wall-pissing contests, just to have the satisfaction of giving someone else—anyone at all—the finger? Rakel had once said that he wished he’d been born with an extra middle finger that was permanently sticking up.

Azriel sketched a bow- while Cassian stalked for the dining table, reached right over Nesta's shoulder, and grabbed a muffin from its little basket. 'Morning, Nesta,' he said around a mouth of blueberry-lemon. 'Elain.' Nesta's nostrils flared, but Elain peered up at Cassian, blinking twice. 'He snapped your wings, broke your bones.' I tried to shut out the sound of Cassian's scream- the memory of the spraying blood. Nesta stared at her plate. Elain, at least, was out of her room, but... 'It's take more than that to kill me,' Cassian said with a smirk that didn't meet his eyes. Elain only said to Cassian, 'No, it will not.

The hairs on the back of her neck tingled and she shivered. She turned toward the door and blinked once. Twice. The sexiest man she'd ever seen in her life stood in the doorway. No, stood wasn't a good word, not with the way his presence filled the shop. Dear Lord, was she panting? His broad shoulders were encased in a suit that had t cost more than her rent, but she didn't care about that. His thick chest tapered into a trim waist and strong thighs. Just the thought of those thighs made her clench her own. He had his hands fisted at his sides, and oh God, those hands. Large, thick and they looked so out of place compared to his classy suit. It looked as if he actually used his hands rather than merely sitting behind a desk as his attire suggested,

Did you touch your face at all while you were talking to the Akarak captain? Like you’re doing now?” “Um, yeah, maybe.” Ashby pushed through the fog, trying to remember. “I don’t know, it all happened so fast.” “Something like this, maybe?” Rosemary rubbed her eyes with her palm, as if she had a headache. “Possibly. Yeah. Yeah, I think I did.” Rosemary grimaced. “That explains it. See, this—” She tucked her thumb back and held her fingers straight and flat, making her hand into a rough imitation of a Harmagian dactylus. She flexed her hand over her eyes, twice. “—is a really offensive thing to Harmagians. And those Akaraks’ gestures and dialect were very Harmagian influenced.” “What’s it mean?” Rosemary cleared her throat. “It means you’d rather rub shit in your eyes than keep talking to them.” Ashby blinked. He and Sissix both burst into laughter.

I prop my guitar up against the nightstand. Then I turn toward the bed and fall into it face first. The mattress is soft but firm, like a sheet of steel wrapped in a cloud. I roll around, moaning loud and long. “Oh, that’s good. Really, really good. What a grand bed!” Sarah clears her throat. “Well. We should probably get to sleep, then. Big day tomorrow.” The pillow smells sweet, like candy. I can only imagine it’s from her. I wonder if I pressed my nose to the crook of her neck, would her skin smell as delicious? I brush away the thought as I watch her stiffly gather a pillow and blanket from the other side of the bed, dragging them to . . . the nook. “What are you doing?” She looks up, her doe eyes widening. “Getting ready for bed.” “You’re going to sleep there?” “Of course. The sofa’s very uncomfortable.” “Why can’t we share the bed?” She chokes . . . stutters. “I . . . I can’t sleep with you. I don’t even know you.” I throw my arms out wide. “What do you want to know? Ask me anything—I’m an open book.” “That’s not what I mean.” “You’re being ridiculous! It’s a huge bed. You could let one rip and I wouldn’t hear it.” And the blush is back. With a vengeance. “I’m not . . . I don’t . . .” “You don’t fart?” I scoff. “Really? Are you not human?” She curses under her breath, but I’d love to hear it out loud. I bet uninhibited Sarah Von Titebottum would be a stunning sight. And very entertaining. She shakes her head, pinning me with her eyes. “There’s something wrong with you.” “No.” I explain calmly, “I’m just free. Honest with myself and others. You should try it sometime.” She folds her arms, all tight, trembling indignation. It’s adorable. “I’m sleeping in the nook, Your Highness. And that’s that.” I sit up, pinning her gaze right back at her. “Henry.” “What?” “My name is not Highness, it’s fucking Henry, and I’d prefer you use it.” And she snaps. “Fine! Fucking Henry—happy?” I smile. “Yes. Yes, I am.” I flop back on the magnificent bed. “Sleep tight, Titebottum.” I think she growls at me, but it’s muffled by the sound of rustling bed linens and pillows. And then . . . there’s silence. Beautiful, blessed silence. I wiggle around, getting comfy. I turn on my side and fluff the pillow. I squeeze my eyes tight . . . but it’s hopeless. “Fucking hell!” I sit up. And Sarah springs to her feet. “What? What’s wrong?” It’s the guilt. I’ve barged into this poor girl’s room, confiscated her bed, and have forced her to sleep in a cranny in the wall. I may not be the man my father was or the gentleman my brother is, but I’m not that much of a prick. I stand up, rip my shirt over my head. and march toward the window seat. I feel Sarah’s eyes graze my bare chest, arms. and stomach, but she circles around me, keeping her distance. “You take the bloody bed,” I tell her. “I’ll sleep in the bloody nook.” “You don’t have to do that.” I push my hand through my hair. “Yes, I do.” Then I stand up straight and proper, an impersonation of Hugh Grant in one of his classic royal roles. “Please, Lady Sarah.” She blinks, her little mouth pursed. “Okay.” Then she climbs onto the bed, under the covers. And I squeeze onto the window bench, knees bent, my elbow jammed against the icy windowpane, and my neck bent at an odd angle that I’m going to be feeling tomorrow. The light is turned down to a very low dim, and for several moments all I hear is Sarah’s soft breaths. But then, in the near darkness, her delicate voice floats out on a sigh. “All right, we can sleep in the bed together.” Music to my ears. I don’t make her tell me twice—I’ve fulfilled my noble quota for the evening. I stumble from the nook and crash onto the bed. That’s better.

Yes.” I sniff. I love him like you might love a star. “Yes, you did?” He stares over at me. I nod. “Yes.” His eyes go funny, sort of blurry—he blinks twice and then he yells “Fuck!” way too loudly to be anything close to discreet. My head pulls back and I tense up. “Shit.” He breathes out, shaking his head. “Fuck—” I watch on in mild horror. “Are you ok—” “Say it.” “What?” I stare over at him. “Can you, please? Say it?” he asks. “Now. Out loud—” He shakes his head at himself. “Just so I’ve heard you say it one time.” I open my mouth to protest for a reason I don’t know why and then I stop myself, swallow and look him in the eye. “I loved you.” He nods a couple of times then closes his eyes for a few seconds, blows some air out of his mouth. “I have to ask—” He looks back over at me, eyes all heavy now. “Was I ever in with a shot?” He is a star. Not the shooting kind. Not some flash-in-the-pan meteorite that burns up on entry into the atmosphere. And stars, they’re undeniably beautiful, kind of magical. Only come out at the nighttime. Easy enough to ignore. In a sky full of them, a single star can be difficult to tell apart from the others. They don’t affect our day-to-day lives, really. You might see it one night and not the next, and it bears no real consequence other than perhaps the sky is a little less wonderful on that particular evening. A star is a star. “In this world,” I give him a delicate look, “with BJ?” I shake my head. “I’m sorry.” “That’s—” He trails, letting out this hollow laugh that I kind of hate. It doesn’t suit him. His regular laugh is so wonderful. “—fine.” He nods. “That’s good to know, actually—” “I’m sorry,” I tell him. He shakes his head again. “No, don’t be.” But you see, the thing about stars is that in another galaxy, that star is also a sun. “If it wasn’t him, it would be you,” I tell him, for better and for worse. He blows some more air out of his mouth and catches my eye. “In another life, yeah?” I nod and offer him a weak smile. “I’ll meet you there.

He nodded. “From the first moment I saw you, I wanted you. It was the night of the Nethercourt gathering three years ago. You wore a green gown and your eyes seemed to be alive with color. You entered the room and I had to have you… I would have had you, except that Owen told me you were his new mistress.” Mariah blinked in increasing disbelief at the detail John could recount of the night of their first meeting. “I—I had no idea of your feelings.” “Of course not.” John frowned. “I made certain you did not, nor did Owen. I would not have betrayed him in such a manner. But my desire for you never decreased. Although I suppose that fact is rather clear since I have taken you not once, but twice in recent days. And without much finesse either time, for which I apologize.” Mariah set her cup away and leaned back in the chair to stare at him. “You act as though I received no pleasure from those encounters. I assure you, I did. A great deal, both times.” He smiled, almost in relief. “Good. I would hate to think I have left a poor impression.

The temptation with condors is to wait that one extra day or week to squeeze out even more profit. Almost every trade you exit could possibly do better, perhaps even twice as well, sometimes for just an extra day or two. On the other hand, you might watch profits evaporate into losses and then find yourself scrambling to make defensive adjustments that add weeks to your trade. It is for those few trades that could have really been dangerous that you should be cautious with the rest. There is no point in making a return of 40% if you are going to lose 50% or 100% in a single trade. A good rule of thumb: Don’t try to stare down the market because the market never blinks. What separates the winners from the losers is the exit strategy. The exit strategy that works best is to give back almost all of the credit. If you take in an initial 16% credit and keep only 3%, 4%, or 5%, you’re giving back most of the potential profits. How many trades have you made that can consistently make profits of 3% in a few days regardless of the direction of the market?

Honest to God, I hadn’t meant to start a bar fight. “So. You’re the famous Jordan Amador.” The demon sitting in front of me looked like someone filled a pig bladder with rotten cottage cheese. He overflowed the bar stool with his gelatinous stomach, just barely contained by a white dress shirt and an oversized leather jacket. Acid-washed jeans clung to his stumpy legs and his boots were at least twice the size of mine. His beady black eyes started at my ankles and dragged upward, past my dark jeans, across my black turtleneck sweater, and over the grey duster around me that was two sizes too big. He finally met my gaze and snorted before continuing. “I was expecting something different. Certainly not a black girl. What’s with the name, girlie?” I shrugged. “My mother was a religious woman.” “Clearly,” the demon said, tucking a fat cigar in one corner of his mouth. He stood up and walked over to the pool table beside him where he and five of his lackeys had gathered. Each of them was over six feet tall and were all muscle where he was all fat. “I could start to examine the literary significance of your name, or I could ask what the hell you’re doing in my bar,” he said after knocking one of the balls into the left corner pocket. “Just here to ask a question, that’s all. I don’t want trouble.” Again, he snorted, but this time smoke shot from his nostrils, which made him look like an albino dragon. “My ass you don’t. This place is for fallen angels only, sweetheart. And we know your reputation.” I held up my hands in supplication. “Honest Abe. Just one question and I’m out of your hair forever.” My gaze lifted to the bald spot at the top of his head surrounded by peroxide blonde locks. “What’s left of it, anyway.” He glared at me. I smiled, batting my eyelashes. He tapped his fingers against the pool cue and then shrugged one shoulder. “Fine. What’s your question?” “Know anybody by the name of Matthias Gruber?” He didn’t even blink. “No.” “Ah. I see. Sorry to have wasted your time.” I turned around, walking back through the bar. I kept a quick, confident stride as I went, ignoring the whispers of the fallen angels in my wake. A couple called out to me, asking if I’d let them have a taste, but I didn’t spare them a glance. Instead, I headed to the ladies’ room. Thankfully, it was empty, so I whipped out my phone and dialed the first number in my Recent Call list. “Hey. He’s here. Yeah, I’m sure it’s him. They’re lousy liars when they’re drunk. Uh-huh. Okay, see you in five.” I hung up and let out a slow breath. Only a couple things left to do. I gathered my shoulder-length black hair into a high ponytail. I looped the loose curls around into a messy bun and made sure they wouldn’t tumble free if I shook my head too hard. I took the leather gloves in the pocket of my duster out and pulled them on. Then, I walked out of the bathroom and back to the front entrance. The coat-check girl gave me a second unfriendly look as I returned with my ticket stub to retrieve my things—three vials of holy water, a black rosary with the beads made of onyx and the cross made of wood, a Smith & Wesson .9mm Glock complete with a full magazine of blessed bullets and a silencer, and a worn out page of the Bible. I held out my hands for the items and she dropped them on the counter with an unapologetic, “Oops.” “Thanks,” I said with a roll of my eyes. I put the Glock back in the hip holster at my side and tucked the rest of the items in the pockets of my duster. The brunette demon crossed her arms under her hilariously oversized fake breasts and sent me a vicious sneer. “The door is that way, Seer. Don’t let it hit you on the way out.” I smiled back. “God bless you.” She let out an ugly hiss between her pearly white teeth. I blew her a kiss and walked out the door. The parking lot was packed outside now that it was half-past midnight. Demons thrived in darkness, so I wasn’t surprised. In fact, I’d been counting on it.

The Real World' The real word doesn't take flight the way dreams do. No muffled voice, no doorbell can dispel it, no shriek, no crash can cut it short. Images in dreams are hazy and ambiguous, and can generally be explained in many different ways. Reality means reality: that's tougher nut to crack. Dreams have keys. The real world opens on its own and can't be shut. Report canrds and stars pour from it, butterflies and flatiron warmers shower down, headless caps and shards of clouds. Together they form a rebus that can't be solved. Without us dreams couldn't exist. The one on whom the real world depends is still unknown, and the products of his insomnia are avaialble to anyone who wakes up. Dreams aren't crazy- it's the real world that's insane, if only in the stubbornness with which it sticks to the current of events. In dreams our recently deceased are still alive, in perfect health, no less, and restored to the full bloom of youth. The real world lays the corpse in front of us. The real world doesn't blink an eye. Dreams are featherweights, and memory can shake them off with ease. The real world doesn't have to fear forgetfulness. It's a tough customer. It sits on our shoulders, weights on our hearts, tumbles to our feet. There's no escaping it, it tags along each time we flee. And there's no stop along our escape route where reality isn't expecting us.

Holland was sitting on the cot with his back to the wall, his head resting on his drawn-up knees. One hand was cuffed to the wall, the chain hanging like a leash. His skin had taken on a greyish pallor—the sea clearly wasn’t agreeing with him—and his black hair, Kell realized, was streaked with new bright silver, as if shedding Osaron had cost him something vital. But what surprised Kell most was the simple fact that Holland was asleep. Kell had never seen Holland lower his guard, never seen him relaxed, let alone unconscious. And yet, he wasn’t entirely still. The muscles in the other Antari’s arms twitched, his breath hitching, as though he were trapped in a bad dream. Kell held his breath as he lifted the chair out of the way and stepped into the room. Holland didn’t stir when Kell neared, nor when he knelt in front of the bed. “Holland?” said Kell quietly, but the man didn’t shift. It wasn’t until Kell’s hand touched Holland’s arm that the man woke. His head snapped up and he pulled suddenly away, or tried to, his shoulders hitting the cabin wall. For a moment his gaze was wide and empty, his body coiled, his mind somewhere else. It lasted only a second, but in that sliver of time, Kell saw fear. A deep, trained fear, the kind beaten into animals who’d once bitten their masters, Holland’s careful composure slipping to reveal the tension beneath. And then he blinked, once, twice, eyes focusing. “Kell.” He exhaled sharply, his posture shifting back into a mimicry of calm, control, as he wrestled with whatever demons haunted his sleep. “Vos och?” he demanded brusquely in his own tongue. What is it?

Here are two examples of just how strange and unique humans can be when they go about harming one another and caring for one another. The first example involves, well, my wife. So we’re in the minivan, our kids in the back, my wife driving. And this complete jerk cuts us off, almost causing an accident, and in a way that makes it clear that it wasn’t distractedness on his part, just sheer selfishness. My wife honks at him, and he flips us off. We’re livid, incensed. Asshole-where’s-the-cops-when-you-need-them, etc. And suddenly my wife announces that we’re going to follow him, make him a little nervous. I’m still furious, but this doesn’t strike me as the most prudent thing in the world. Nonetheless, my wife starts trailing him, right on his rear. After a few minutes the guy’s driving evasively, but my wife’s on him. Finally both cars stop at a red light, one that we know is a long one. Another car is stopped in front of the villain. He’s not going anywhere. Suddenly my wife grabs something from the front seat divider, opens her door, and says, “Now he’s going to be sorry.” I rouse myself feebly—“Uh, honey, do you really think this is such a goo—” But she’s out of the car, starts pounding on his window. I hurry over just in time to hear my wife say, “If you could do something that mean to another person, you probably need this,” in a venomous voice. She then flings something in the window. She returns to the car triumphant, just glorious. “What did you throw in there!?” She’s not talking yet. The light turns green, there’s no one behind us, and we just sit there. The thug’s car starts to blink a very sensible turn indicator, makes a slow turn, and heads down a side street into the dark at, like, five miles an hour. If it’s possible for a car to look ashamed, this car was doing it. “Honey, what did you throw in there, tell me?” She allows herself a small, malicious grin. “A grape lollipop.” I was awed by her savage passive-aggressiveness—“You’re such a mean, awful human that something must have gone really wrong in your childhood, and maybe this lollipop will help correct that just a little.” That guy was going to think twice before screwing with us again. I swelled with pride and love.

Priests, because they hear confessions and forgive sins and give counsel, are often called doctors of souls. You might call us the specialist surgeons of souls. We find the hidden problems, that people won’t speak about and couldn’t even if they would. We delve into the worst that human beings do—into the things that even they can’t explain—in order to find the person buried underneath the sin. Then we do our best to bring them back up with us. We see some of the harshest ugliness there is. Do you know why a person would cheat on their loving spouse with the full knowledge that it will wreck their children’s lives when the family falls apart? Do you know why a man would turn his own children against their mother so that they refuse to talk to her? Do you know why a woman would torture her children without leaving a mark, and scare them into not telling anyone? Do you know why people fake crimes and get their spouse arrested and sent to prison?” He stared at her expecting an answer, with an intensity that was almost frightening. She tried to voice an answer or two, but in the face of that earnest inquiry, they died unspoken. Easy answers and joking evasions wouldn’t do. She shook her head in the negative. “I do,” he said. “I’ve seen every one of those at least twice. And do you know what it’s taught me?” “What?” she asked, faintly. Sonia felt like she was talking with a monster. She was almost afraid of what lessons it had learned from the worst that human beings had to offer. “That the love of God is greater than all human evil. That where sin abounds, grace abounds more. I’ve seen some of the worst there is, and it doesn’t prove that life is meaningless. It proves that life is worth living. And it proves that we need God. I’m probably the most cynical person you’ve ever met, or ever will meet. But that doesn’t mean that I think life is bad. It means I know how much evil can exist in a good world. That’s what the faith gives me: I can stare evil in the face without blinking, because I know that it’s not the whole story.” He took a deep breath, then continued, a little more relaxed. “I’m sure that’s scary, if you’re used to blinking. I don’t know what to tell you, except that closing your eyes is not the way to be happy. If there’s something that you’re not supposed to look at, then look at it. If there’s something you’re not supposed to think about, then think about it. If something is too horrible to face, face it. Because the truth will set you free.” “You scare me,” she said, but it was an observation, neither a criticism nor a request to stop. He shrugged his shoulders. “Comfort is overrated,” he said. They stood there in silence for a few moments.

Now that Dad was gone I was starting to see how mortality was bound up in things like that cold, arc-lit sky. How the world is full of signs and wonders that come, and go, and if you are lucky you might see them. Once, twice. Perhaps never again. The albums on my mother's shelves are full of family photographs. But also other things. A starling with a crooked beak. A day of hoarfrost and smoke. Cherry tree thick with blossom. Thunderclouds, lightning strikes, comets and eclipses: celestial events terrifying in their blind distances but reassuring you, too, that the world is for ever though you are only a blink in its course

I blink twice. Because one blink means “yes” and two means “get on my dick before I burst.

Why?” I asked him quietly. “Why were you taking essence from the boy?” “H-he… He had so much. I didn’t think it would hurt him and I…” He cringed back from me as he spoke the last words. “I…needed to grow some hair.” I blinked my eyes slowly. Twice. “Did you say…hair?” “Rogaine didn’t work!” he all but wailed. “And that transplant surgery wasn’t viable for my hair and skin type!” He bowed his head and ran fingertips through his thick head of hair. “Look, see? Look how well it’s come in. But if I don’t maintain it…” “You…used black magic. To grow hair.” “I…” He looked everywhere but at me. “I tried everything else first. I never meant

An owl circled the rising moon. Grandfather had taught her about the spirit of the owl: he had such powerful medicine. More than any of the big bellies left alive in the Hunkpapa or Oglala families. What would he consuel if he where with her now? The owl landed softly on the branch of an overhead pine, settled his wings, looked sharply down at her, and through his ageless eyes she felt the presence of her grandfather. -Go back to your bed and sleep and wait for the dream. The dream is the question and the answer. The dream will tell you what to do-. The owl blinked twice then swooped off into the night.

The sound of voices distract me from our staring contest and I glance around us for the first time. We’re standing just outside the doorway to the kitchen and a young guy with dark hair from the catering company carries a tray as he walks past us with a wary look. “Everything all right out here?” he asks, his gaze darting to Vincent before giving me a look that says, blink twice if you need my help. I smile. “We’re great,” I say, the words all chirpy and chipper despite my anger.

They will die, but so will we all. We are all gone in the blink of an eye, and there is nothing to do but live while you’re waiting.

Richie chooses that moment to reappear. “Everything okay?” “He’s fine,” Asher says. “Just seems to be stroking out because I called him cute.” Richie blinks at Asher once, twice, then reaches for me and crushes me to his side. “Get your own boyfriend.” Asher laughs again and holds up his hands. “I’m shit-stirring, man. You can both calm down. I’m not interested in either of you.

I walked over to Claire. “Um … hurrr … will you marry me, Claire?” Claire dropped her fork on her plate. The room became deadly silent. Oof. Maybe I should have tried a different approach. Claire stared at me and blinked her eyes. “What?” I got down on one knee like I’ve heard you’re supposed to do. “Will you marry me?” Claire blinked a few times. Her mouth began to tremble. “What is this coming from?” I handed her the letter. “Read this.” She took the letter with a trembling hand and began to read. As she read, she placed her hand over her mouth. She gasped twice. The color drained from her face. She finished and rested the letter in her lap. With tears in her eyes, she stood up, looked at me, and said, “Yes.

She felt so small in his arms. He felt a sudden urge to protect her, to pick her up and carry her inside. He wanted to wash away the mud and wrap her in silk. “Mr. Burke,” she whispered, suddenly stiff. Her eyes were open wide, her lips parted as she tried to control her breathing. He tensed with realization: she felt it too, whatever this was between them. Christ, she was beautiful. That fair skin and those dark eyes. He wanted to brush his fingers over her mouth. He wanted— “Please let me go.” He blinked twice, the soft plea of her words making him drop his hands away as if she’d burned him. She might want him, but she didn’t trust him. Hell, she didn’t even know him. And he didn’t know her. What was happening to him? He

People here came and went, they came and went. Knowing they were here to live out their days made them vital. They moved slowly, but their time ran fast. Bogdan liked to be among them. They will die, but so will we all. We are all gone in the blink of an eye, and there is nothing to do but live while you're waiting, cause trouble, play chess, whatever suits you.

I don't want you getting too cold, ' he added, his breath warm against my temple. He was so much taller, even sitting as straight as I was, my head still didn't reach his chin. 'I feel like that's an important part of my duty as your personal Royal Guard.' 'Is that what you're doing right now? Protecting me from the cold by pulling me into your lap?' 'Exactly.' His hand was against my side, the weight like a brand. I stared at what I thought might be his throat. 'This is incredibly inappropriate.' 'More inappropriate than reading a dirty journal?' 'Yes,' I insisted, heat creeping into my face. 'No.' His deep chuckle rumbled through me. 'I can't even lie. This is inappropriate.' 'Then why?' 'Why?' His chin grazed the top of my head. 'Because I wanted to.' I blinked once and then twice. 'And what if I didn't want to?' Another chuckle sent an acute shiver through me. 'Princess, I'm confident that if you didn't want me to do something, I'd be lying flat on my back with a dagger at my throat before I even took my next breath. Even if you can't see an inch in front of you.

Android Girl Just Wants to Have a Baby! The first thing I do when I wake up is run my hands over my body. I like to make sure all my wires are in place. I lotion my silicone shell and snap my hair helmet over my head. I once had a dream I was a real girl, but when I woke up I was still myself in my paleness under the halogen light. The saliva of androids emits a spectral resonance, barely sticky between freshly-gapped teeth. After they made me, the first thing they did was peel the cellophane from my eyes. I blinked once, twice, and cried because that's how you say you are alive before you are given language. They named each of my heartbeats on the oceanic monitor: Guanyin, Yama, Nuwa, Fuxi, Chang'e, Zao-Shen. I listened to them blur into one. The fetus carves for itself a hollowed vector, a fragile wetness. In utero, extension cords are umbilical. Before puberty, I did not know there was such a thing as dishonor. Diss-on- her. This is what they said when I began to drip petrol between my legs. A tension exists between ritual and proof, a fantasy and its execution. Since then, I have been to the emergency room twice. The first time for a suicide attempt, and the second time because my earring was swallowed up by my newly pierced earlobe overnight, and when I woke up, it was tangled in a helix of wires. The idea of dying doesn't scare me but the ocean does. I was once told that fish will swim up my orifices if I am no longer a virgin. Is anyone thinking about erotic magazines when they are not aroused, pubes parted harshly down the center like red seas? My body carries the weight of four hundred eggs. I rise from a weird slumber, let them drip into the bath. This is what I'll leave behind - tiny shards purer than me. I have always been afraid of pregnant women because of their power, and because I don't yet understand what it means to carry something stubborn and blossoming inside of me, screeching towards an exit. The ectoplasm is the telos for the wound. A trance state is induced when salt is poured on it, pixel by pixel. I wish they had made me into an octopus instead, because octopuses die after their eggs hatch and crawl out into the sea, and I want to know what it's like to set something free into the dark unknown and trust it to choose mercy. If you can generate aura in a non-place, then there is no such thing as an authentic origin. In Chinese, the word for mercy translates to my heart hurts for you. They say my heart continues beating even after it is dislocated from my body. The sound of its beating comes from the valves opening and closing like a portal - Guanyin, Yama, Nuwa, Fuxi, Chang'e, Zao-Shen. I first learned about love by watching a sex tape where a girl looks up from performing fellatio and says, show them the sunset. Her boyfriend pans the camera to the sky, which is tinged violet like a bruise. In this moment, the sky displaces her, all digital and hyped, and saturates the scene until it collapses on me too, its transient witness. I move in the space between belly ring and catharsis. That night I have a dream where I am a camgirl, but all I do on screen is wash my laundry. Everybody loves me because I am a real girl doing real girl things. What lives on the border between meditation and oblivion, static and flux, a pomegranate seed and an embryo? I set up my webcam in the corner of the room and play ambient music while I scrub my underwear, letting soap bubbles rise up from the sink, laughing when they overflow on the linoleum floor - my frizzy hair, my pockmarked skin, my face slick with sweat. A body with exit wounds. I ride the bright rails of an animal forgetting. And when I wake up, the sky is a mess of blue.

We are all gone in the blink of an eye, and there is nothing to do but live while you’re waiting. Cause trouble, play chess, whatever suits you.

Can you please try and piece together what you’re feeling and communicate it to me?” She blinks up at me once, twice, like she can’t believe what she’s about to say out loud. “I think I’m going to miss you.” Holy fuck, my father is a genius.

I finally understood how Blink-182 could speak to someone’s heart Well I guess this is growing up.

She had attempted to ignore him, hoping he wouldn’t approach her as she stood alone on the aisle of the bookstore. He was the persistent kind, though. After approaching her, he mustered a polite smile and blinked twice. “Excuse me,” she said by way of introduction, gently fanning behind herself.

Xaden isn’t only twice as ruthless, but he’s dangerously unpredictable.” I blink. “Wait. What are you saying?” “They’re a mated pair, Tairn and Sgaeyl. The strongest bonded pair in centuries.

My father and my brothers came to me and said, “We missed it, we were working. Take time to savor every moment because if you blink twice you’ll be walking her down the aisle.” Strangers would come up to us in grocery store after a particularly grueling night – I’m sure our weary expressions said it all - and they would tell us, “Enjoy these moments, even the difficult ones.” It sunk in. So I knew that it all happens fast. It doesn’t seem like it when you’re up at 3am feeding a cranky kid who won’t go back to sleep. But we made that our time. We found ways to make it fun and special, and to realize that one day she’d be off to college and I’d wish I could have another moment with her like this, just me and her, at 3am playing a game of peek a boo. On that day, I’d wish I had this day back.

The face that greeted me, however, was far from welcoming, it was a miniature stick insect of a woman with wiry white hair and enormous glasses that emphasized her heavily wrinkled face. She blinked twice and looked me up and down. By the look on her face, she wasn’t that impressed with what she saw. “Who is it, Ethel?” She responded, “It’s some homeless woman. She looks like she needs money and a good wash.” And I thought I’d already reached the lowest point of my day.

The silence stretched, and she could hear him shift his feet. The lower tones of the dancing music trembled through the walls, muffled and sad, stripped of vigor and all high prancing notes. Surreal, Jane thought. That’s what you call this. “Miss Erstwhile, let me impress upon you my utmost sincerity…” “There’s no need.” She sat up straighter, smoothed her hands over her skirt. “I understand completely. But I guess I just can’t. I can’t do it anymore. I did my best, and this place was really good for me, you were really good for me. But I’ve come to the end. And it’s okay.” Something in her tone must have caught at him. He knelt beside her, taking her hand. “Are you? Are you okay?” he asked in more honest, feeling tones than she had ever heard from him. The change startled her. Despite his austere looks, he had an openness about his expression that she could only account for in his eyes. Dark eyes, focused on her, pleading with her. But it was all just a game. “I don’t know you,” she said softly. He blinked twice. He looked down. “Perhaps I spoke too soon. Forgive me. We can speak of this later.” He rose to leave. “Mr. Nobley,” she said, and he stopped. “Thank you for thinking kindly of me. I can’t accept your proposal, and I won’t ever be able to. I’m flattered by your attentions, and I have no doubt that many a fine lady will melt under such proclamations in the future.” “But not you.” He sounded beautifully sad. What an actor, she thought. “No, I guess not. I’m embarrassed that I came here at all as though begging for your tormented, lovesick proposal. Thank you for giving it to me so that I could see that it’s not what I want.” “What do you want?” His voice nearly growled with the question. “Excuse me?” “I am asking sincerely,” he said, though he still sounded angry. “What do you want?” “Something real.” He frowned. “Does this have anything to do with a certain gardener?” “Don’t argue with me about this. It’s none of your business.” He scowled but said, “I truly wish you every happiness, Miss Erstwhile, whom I will never call Jane.” “Let’s toss the pretense out the window, shall we? Go ahead and call me Jane.” He seemed saddened by that invitation, and she remembered what it meant to a Regency man to call a woman by her first name. “Except it won’t imply that we’re engaged or anything…Never mind. I’m sorry, I feel like a fool.” “I am the fool,” he said. “Then here’s to fools.” Jane smiled sadly. “I should return.” Mr. Nobley bowed. “Enjoy the ball.” She left him in the dark library, starling herself with the suddenness of yet another ending. But she’d done it. She’d said no. To Mr. Nobley, to the idea of Mr. Darcy, to everything that held her back. She felt so light, her heels barely touching the floor. I’m done, Carolyn, I know what I want, she thought as she approached the palpable strokes of dancing music.

I kept my attention fixed on Quinn, blinked twice so he would come into focus,

But enough of this nonsense. What is a girl like you doing in London?” “A girl like me?” “Well, yes. I mean, Susie, I just never expected to see you here. You’re not exactly…” The glass ball began to crack. “I’m not exactly what?” “Well…” He gave her a look. “This party… this dress… you’re supposed to be riding your horse over the hills in the country, not dancing with idiots like Parkhurst.” He laughed then. “It’s a little bit ridiculous, come to think of it.” She felt her brow come down. Her body go cold. The cracked glass ball shattered, and the rest of reality slipped back in. “You’re angry,” she realized. Some part of her broke a little. After all this time, he’d been gone and she’d been so happy to see him and… He was angry. “No, I’m not,” he blustered. “Yes, you are. You are angry because I am somehow ridiculous for having changed. But what’s ridiculous about it?” she asked, unable to keep her voice calm and cool, as she knew her aunt would insist. “I dance quite well, as you see. I look lovely in this dress. And I enjoy Mr. Parkhurst’s company.” “No one could enjoy –” “What I find ridiculous is that you come back after three years away and expect me to be unchanged. To be the skinny, awkward girl who tried to kiss you once and ended up kissing a log instead.” He blinked twice at that, but she kept going. “Instead you are angry – yes, angry! I can tell! – at my having had the audacity to grow up. And you mock me for having done so.” “Susie, I never meant –” “It’s Susannah, Sebastian. Or Miss Westforth. And the only ridiculous thing here right now is you.” With

As so often had happened in battle, Christopher’s instincts took over completely, prompting action at a speed faster than thought. He heard nothing, but he felt his throat vibrate with a hoarse cry, while his body vaulted over the paddock fence. Beatrix reacted from instinct as well. As the horse began to fall, she yanked her booted feet from the stirrups and pushed away from him in midair. She hit the ground and rolled twice, thrice, while the horse’s body crashed beside her…missing her by a matter of inches. As Beatrix lay still and dazed, the maddened horse struggled to its feet, its hooves pounding the ground beside her with skull-splitting force. Christopher snatched her up and carried her to the side of the paddock, while Leo approached the enraged horse and somehow managed to grab the reins. Lowering Beatrix to the ground, Christopher searched her for injuries, running his hands over her limbs, feeling her skull. She was panting and wheezing, the breath having been knocked out of her. She blinked up at him in confusion. “What happened?” “The horse reared and fell.” Christopher’s voice came out in a rasp. “Tell me your name.” “Why are you asking me that?” “Your name,” he insisted. “Beatrix Heloise Hathaway.” She looked at him with round blue eyes. “Now that we know who I am…who are you?

I'm a time traveler. I travel to far-off lands, places, and times you can only dream of. With a snap of a finger, a gasp, a blink, I am there. I've skinny-dipped in the sixties, robbed a steam train in the 1800s, run from gangsters during Prohibition, climbed to mountains outside Beijing. I don't know how many reincarnations I have left. I don't know my first parents, my first family. All I know is that I'm an orphan of the stars, born to countless families with countless sisters and brothers and lovers and friends. Countless enemies, I suppose, as well. I've toured Dante's castle in Limbo. I can speak Chinese and Danish. I've stolen treasures worth millions, turned them over in my hands. I've been shot twice. I broke a boy's nose at school. I know kung fu. I'm dying. I don't know how to trust. I'm angry, and I'm bitter, and you are the only bright spot in all of it.

What the fuck is that?” At the sound of V’s voice, John turned with the rest of them . . . and when he saw what was up at the head of the grand staircase, he blinked once. Twice. Twelve times. Lassiter was standing at the top of the carpeted steps, his blond-and-black hair styled in a pompadour, a heavy Bible under his armpit, piercings catching the light . . . But none of that was the real shocker. The fallen angel was dressed in a sparkling white Elvis costume. Complete with bell-bottoms, balloon sleeves, and lapels big enough to tent up the backyard. Oh, and rainbow wings that revealed themselves as he held his arms out, preacher style. “Time to get the party started,” he said as he jogged down, sequins winking and flashing. “And where the hell’s my pulpit?” V coughed out the smoke he’d just inhaled. “She’s having you do the service?” The angel popped his already mile-high collar. “She said she wanted the holiest thing in the house to do it.” “She got holey, all right,” somebody muttered. “Is that Butch’s Bible?” V asked. The angel flashed the goods. “Yup. And his BoC, he called it? I also got a sermon I did myself.” “Saints preserve us,” came from the opposite side of the crowd. “Wait, wait, wait.” V waved his hand-rolled around. “I’m the son of a deity and she picked you?” “You can call me Pastor—and before Mr. Sox Fan gets his panties in a wad, I want everyone to know I’m legit. I went online, took a minister’s course in under an hour, and I’m ordained, baby.” Rhage raised his hand. “Pastor Ass-hat, I have a question.” “Yes, my son, you are going to hell.” Lassiter made the sign of the cross and then looked around. “So where’s our bride? The groom? I’m ready to marry somebody.” “I didn’t bring enough tobacco for this,” V bitched. Rhage sighed. “There’s Goose in the bar, my brother—oh, wait. We don’t have a bar anymore.” “I think I’ll just run an IV of morphine.” “Can I put it in?” Lassiter asked. “That’s what she said,” somebody shot back

Faith, lassie, did you really think you could steal my schooner and get away with it? Did you really think I wouldn’t show up to give my daughter away at her own wedding? Good God, what the devil is this world coming to?” She froze, not daring to breathe, to hope, to think; she felt his arm sliding under her gloved hand, heard his melodious Irish voice echoing through her senses and every joyous cell in her awakening body; she blinked once, twice, and slowly, looked up—into a face she hadn’t seen in seven long years and thought never to see again. A handsome face framed in chestnut hair gone gray at the temples; a youthful face, lit by a mirthful grin and Irish eyes now filling with tears of joy and love; a beloved face, a cherished face, the face of the one man whose love and forgiveness meant more to her than anyone else’s in the whole, entire world. “Dadd-e-e-e-e-e-e!” she cried, and threw herself into his embrace. And as he swung her around and around, she saw beyond him, gathered in a circle and now rushing forward, her family.

Isn’t she wonderful?” Oliver’s voice held the same fatuous tone it had when he’d declared himself in love with Miss Smyth, the post’s newest laundress. Though he knew the answer to the question, Ethan couldn’t help teasing Oliver. “Isn’t who wonderful?” Oliver’s eyes widened, as if the answer should be apparent. “Miss Harding. Abigail. She’s the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met.” Ethan wouldn’t disagree with that assessment, even though he could not imagine Abigail as Mrs. Oliver Seton. “You think she’s wonderful even though she refused you?” “She’ll change her mind. I know she will. I tell you, Ethan, she’s the woman for me, even if she’s not as beautiful as her sister.” Ethan blinked in surprise. “You think Charlotte’s prettier than Abigail?” Oliver nodded. “Any man with eyes can see that, but Jeffrey spotted her first. Lucky man. Abigail’s next best.” The thought of Abigail as second best made Ethan clench his fists. Charlotte had a head filled with air. She would never have tried to help him out of the doldrums as Abigail had done, for she would not have even known he had sunk into the mire. Second best? Hah! “You’re crazy, Oliver. Anyone can see that Abigail’s twice the woman Charlotte is. I’m not denying that Charlotte is pretty, but Abigail is in a class of her own.” Oliver’s eyes narrowed as he regarded Ethan. “It sounds like you’re interested in her yourself.” Ridiculous. The thought was absurd. “Of course I’m not. I’m only pointing out the facts.” “I’m warning you, Ethan. You may outrank me, but you’d better not be setting your sights on Miss Harding, because I aim to marry her.” Without waiting for a reply, Oliver stalked away.

Is it safe?” John asked, hovering by the doorway. “Safe?” Richard asked. “What mean you by that?” John entered the chamber slowly. Richard blinked at the enormous discoloration on John’s face. “Saints, man, have you and Jessica been brawling?” “Jessica? Richard, you fool, ’twas you who struck me! And twice, no less!” “Me? Have you gone daft? Why would I do such a thing?” John shrugged. “You were out of your head with fever. Jessica was the fortunate one. You only nicked her. I took the full brunt of your blows.

I like to make sure I’ve all the facts before I shoot a man.” And with that, he turned about and headed for the door. “What?” Adelaide blinked at his back, twice, before moving to intercede. “No! For pity’s sake, not this again.

His brothers rush at me. Sam and Pete, the youngest brothers in the family, get to me first. The twins attack me from both sides, squishing me between them like I’m the filling of a sandwich. They squeeze me, and they press their lips against each of my cheeks. “If you lick me,” I warn. Sam already has his tongue out, but he sucks it back in really quickly and grins at me. “Welcome home,” Sam says. He steps back, and Pete’s arms fall around me. He squeezes me tightly, clutching my head against his chest as his hands tumble through my hair. “Would you cut it out?” I grouse, trying to flatten my hair back down. Pete laughs and steps to the side. “Welcome home,” Paul says before wrapping me up in his arms. He really is a big guy, even bigger than Logan, and I think he could wrap around me twice. “Thanks,” I murmur against his chest. I can barely breathe, but it’s worth it. Then there’s Matt. He leans against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He doesn’t smile. His eyes are wet, and he blinks really quickly. “Come here, big guy,” I say, making a come hither motion with my fingers. He pushes off the counter and starts toward me. “I’m going to kiss your girl, Logan,” he warns. Logan’s eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t complain. He smiles and shrugs his shoulders. Matt stops in front of me and tips my face up to his. He looks directly into my eyes and holds my gaze. “Thank you,” he says. I gulp past the lump that’s suddenly in my throat and try to sound flippant. “For what?” I ask with a breezy wave. He won’t let me look away though. He holds my face between his palms and stares into my eyes. “For saving my fucking life,” he says. “Thank you.” He leans down and kisses me on the cheek with a loud smack. “Oh, I didn’t do anything,” I start. He looks down at me, and his gaze is so serious that my insides quiver. “Yes, you did,” he says. “I’ll never forget it.” He looks over at Logan. “I’m not the only one you saved,” he whispers to me. That lump in my throat grows ten times its size. “You ever need anything at all, you come to me, all right? I’d do anything for you.

The stone blurred. The hole expanded to twice its previous size. Unable to believe she’d actually changed its shape, Jane threw all her weight into the next effort. An opening the size of a refrigerator formed and stabilized. Jane blinked in surprise. She looked over to Muttle. He smiled, delight dancing across his face. “Well, bless my buttons,” she exclaimed. “Come on, Scarecrow, we’re off to see the Wizard.” Taking her rescuer’s hand, she walked through the gap.

You have a very curious look on your face,” Parkhurst said, bringing her attention back to him. (Another rule long since drilled into her head popped up: When with a man, give him your full attention. Unless he does not return the favor.) And Parkhurst definitely was earning her attention, his eyes peering into her face, searching. “Do I?” she asked, turning the corners of her mouth up. “Yes. I would pay all the money I have to know what you are thinking.” “Oh, I should prefer not to bankrupt you, so I will happily tell you,” Susannah answered back coyly. “I was thinking about my aunt, and some advice she has given me.” “Advice?” Parkhurst’s (slightly bushy) eyebrow went up. “On what subject?” “Men.” Now his second eyebrow joined the first. “And what was the advice?” “All men, whether they know it or not, desire manipulation. It is only charitable that we women manipulate them to our liking.” Parkhurst blinked twice and then burst out laughing. And Susannah glowed with pleasure, knowing that she had gained the attention of every man in the room – and cemented the gaze of one man in particular.

From The Bridge” by Captain Hank Bracker Mundane Happenings Life is just packed with “Mundane Happenings!” It’s the mundane happenings that usually take the most time and they always seem to interfere, just about when you want to do something really important. Let’s start with mundane things that are routine, like doing the dishes and taking out the garbage. The list for a single person might be a little less involved or complicated but it would be every bit as important as that of a married couple or people with lots of children or even pets. Oh yes, for some the list of mundane responsibilities would include washing clothes and taking the children to their activities. You know what I mean… school, sports, hobbies, their intellectual endeavors and the like. For most of us beds have to be made, the house has to be kept clean, grass has to be cut and the flowers have to be pruned. Then there are the seasonal things, such as going trick or treating, buying the children everything they need before school starts or before going to summer camp. Let’s not forget Christmas shopping as well as birthdays and anniversaries. This list is just an outline of mundane happenings! I’m certain that you can fill in any of these broad topics with a detailed account of just how time consuming these little things can be. Of course we could continue to fill in our calendar with how our jobs consume our precious time. For some of us our jobs are plural, meaning we have more than one job or sometimes even more than that. I guess you get the point… it’s the mundane happenings that eat up our precious time ferociously. Blink once and the week is gone, blink twice and it’s the month and then the year and all you have to show for it, is a long list of the mundane things you have accomplished. Would you believe me, if I said that it doesn’t have to be this way? Really, it doesn’t have to, and here is what you can do about it. First ask yourself if you deserve to recapture any of the time you are so freely using for mundane things. Of course the answer should be a resounding yes! The next question you might want to ask yourself is what would you do with the time you are carving out for yourself? This is where we could part company, however, whatever it is it should be something personal and something that is fulfilling to you! For me, it became a passion to write about things that are important to me! I came to realize that there were stories that needed to be told! You may not agree, however I love sharing my time with others. I’m interested in hearing their stories, which I sometimes even incorporate into my writings. I also love to tell my stories because I led an exciting life and love to share my adventures with my friends and family, as well as you and future generations. I do this by establishing, specifically set, quiet time, and have a cave, where I can work; and to me work is fun! This is how and where I wrote The Exciting Story of Cuba, Suppressed I Rise, now soon to be published as a “Revised Edition” and Seawater One…. Going to Sea! Yes, it takes discipline but to me it’s worth the time and effort! I love doing this and I love meeting new friends in the process. Of course I still have mundane things to do…. I believe it was the astronaut Allen Shepard, who upon returning to Earth from the Moon, was taking out the garbage and looking up saw a beautifully clear full Moon and thought to himself, “Damn, I was up there!” It’s the accomplishment that makes the difference. The mundane will always be with us, however you can make a difference with the precious moments you set aside for yourself. I feel proud about the awards I have received and most of all I’m happy to have recorded history as I witnessed it. My life is, gratefully, not mundane, and yours doesn’t have to be either.” Captain Hank Bracker, author of the award winning book “The Exciting Story of Cuba.

Love letters to the depressed and the future heart broken I’m leaving the light on in my old street Hoping I see some surrender on the other side of town Blink twice if you can see me. Blink thrice if you need me. We’ve been walking alone for too long, putting all our rotten eggs in the same basket Skipping in the dark, singing do rei (forget) me.

Look them... look this black hoodies... they are having fun... why you don't try also? (Drugs are good for you..) (Can you think!?) - At least blink!

The difference here is that the Gyrms were never alive in the first place,” Kieran explained, running a finger along sentences that looked like nothing more than scribbles on an ivory page to me. “They were created from the soil of the gods and from the eather—from magic—and used to do the bidding of the one who summoned them. Created them. They have no thoughts, no will beyond why they were summoned.” I blinked once and then twice. “They were created from dirt and magic? Seriously?

Thank you!” Cami throws herself into Cal’s arms. Cal blinks twice at my smile before returning my grin with one of his own. Before I know it, he is swooping me into his arms too, smushing me against Cami. The added weight throws him off-balance and the three of us crash against the carpet, with him taking the brunt of the weight. Cami giggling between us makes both Cal and me laugh too. Cami wiggles free and takes off to claim her bedroom. Cal’s arms remain wrapped around me and adjust my weight so I lie on top of him. I suck in a breath as his hand runs down my spine, leaving sparks behind. His hand pauses on the small of my back. “I want to make the two of you laugh like that for the rest of our lives.