Oh, hello, Dr. M says, shaking Balder's hand. Wonderful costume. I'm a bit of a role player myself on the weekends. Tell me, where did you get the helmet?
Evie wanted to cry. From fear. From exhaustion, yes. But mostly from the cruel uselessness, the damned stupid arbitrariness of it all.
Careful there, Poet. I might start to believe you.
God doesn't like lesbians, Grandma Huberman hised, throwing the magazine in the trash.Jennifer knew what lesbian meant, and she knew she probably was one. But she couldn't understand why God would hol...
I'm an oddity of one, my strangeness too complicated to explain or share.
Evie yanked him to safety by the edge of his shirt, ripping it. Thanks. You owe me a shirt, Sam said. You owe me twenty dollars.
We are the dead. We are the keepers of the stories. We hold the history of blood and promises. We are speaking. Are you listening? Will you hear?
Alliteration. It’s when you repeat the same consonant in a phrase, Memphis explained. Huh. I was hoping it was something dirty.
It’s Yiddish. Like…Ikh hob dikh lib. Evie narrowed her eyes in suspicion. What does that mean? Sam smiled. Maybe one day I’ll tell you.
War. Gorgon spits the word. That is what they call it to give the illusion of honor and law. It is chaos. Madness and blood and the hunger to win. It has always been thus and shall always be so.
I don't have time to feel sorry for myself. I've got to think.
Around us the night creatures have their say. We are surrounded by a symphony of crickets and frogs. Neither of us feels the need to speak, and I suppose that is one of the qualities I find comforting...
I'm not really sure what I am at all anymore.We're not just sashes and states, Nicole said on a sigh.Or gender, Petra murmured. Or bodies.
But...you could have whatever you wished.Exactly, he says, nuzzling my neck.
If I have to look through one more of these, I’m throwing myself off that balcony, he moaned. Let me know if you need help, Jericho said.
Perhaps this is how girls fall -- not in some crime of enchantment at the hands of a wicked ne'er-do-well, a grand before and after in which they are innocent victims who have no say in the matter. Pe...
Please, I'm a transgender former boy-bander. You think I don't know how to defend myself?
Yes, go on. Leave. You're always coming and going. The rest of us are stuck here. Do you think he'd still love you if he knew who you are? He doesn't really care—only when it suits him.
We are nowhere, wanting to be somewhere, idling at the starting line of adulthood.
Clothing left on the bed unfolded. Books stained with coffee spots. Tabs not paid until the last possible second. Boys kissed and then forgotten in a week’s time.
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