She's not extravagant or greedy, she tells herself: all she ever wanted was to be protected by layer upon layer of kind, soft, insulating money, so that nobody and nothing could get close enough to ha...
She would be invisible, of course. No one would hear her. And nothing has happened, really, that hasn't happened before.
She who does not hesitate is lost.
She was so pliable. He could do anything with her, arrange her as he pleased, and she would say yes. Not just yes. Oh yes!
She talks with wolves, without knowing what sort of beasts they are:Where have you been all my life? they ask.Where have I been all my life? she replies.
She can outstare anyone, and I am almost as good. We’re impervious, we scintillate, we are thirteen. We wear long wool coats with tie belts, the collars turned up to look like those of movie stars, an...
Sex was a given, like food, and as such was to be relished when excellent and derided when substandard; it was an entertainment, like the theatre, and could thus be reviewed like a performance.
Rezábamos por la vacuidad, para hacernos dignas de ser llenadas: de gracia, de amor, de abnegación, de semen y de niños.Oh, Dios, Rey del universo, gracias por no haberme hecho hombre.Oh, Dios, destrú...
Perhaps he was merely being friendly. Perhaps he saw the look on my face and mistook it for something else. Really what I wanted was the cigarette.
People need such stories, because however dark, a darkness with voices in it is better than a silent void.
Our fragments made us.
One look at a banana and you can tell it came from outer space.
Nothing takes place in the bed but sleep; or no sleep. I try not to think too much. Like other things now, thought must be rationed. There's a lot that doesn't bear thinking about. Thinking can hurt y...
Night falls. Or has fallen. Why is it that night falls, instead of rising, like the dawn? Yet if you look east, at sunset, you can see night rising, not falling; darkness lifting into the sky, up from...
My red skirt is hitched up to my waist, though no higher. Below it the Commander is fucking. What he is fucking is the lower part of my body.
My own view of myself was that I was small and innocuous, a marshmallow compared to the others. I was a poor shot with a 22, for instance, and not very good with an ax. It took me a long time to figur...
Murderess, murderess, he whispers to himself. It has an allure, a scent almost. Hothouse gardenias. Lurid, but also furtive. He imagines himself breathing it as he draws Grace towards him, pressing hi...
Murderess is a strong word to have attached to you. It has a smell to it, that word - musky and oppressive, like dead flowers in a vase. Sometimes at night I whisper it over to myself: . It rustles, l...
Maybe they’ll just take her someplace else, like an island, with the other people on it who are like her. People who don’t fit in, but not criminal elements. Surely that’s what they’ll do.
Maybe none of this is about control. Maybe it really isn't about who can own whom, who can do what to whom and get away with it, even as far as death. Maybe it isn't about who can sit and who has to k...