Wednesday, 4 November 2009
12:36:59 AM (GMT)
"I once believed that life was a gift. I thought whatever I wanted I would someday
possess. Is that greed, r only youth? Is it hope or stupidity? As far as I was
concerned the future was a book I could write to suit myself, chapter after chapter
of good fortune. All was right with the world, and my place in it was assured, or so
I thought then. I had no idea that all stories unfold like white flowers, petal by
petal, each in its own time and season...."
"People who were close by said that they could see people jumping from the buildings,
like silver birds, like bright diamonds. the ground shook, people said, but from
where I stood all I could see was smoke. I could hear the whoosh of the fire all
these miles away, across the river, past the woods. I could hear it as if it were
happening inside my own head."
"But the days wore on and I heard nothing. Dark, fiery days that were silent as
stone. No one came home. Ho one called out my name. finally, I went to open the door.
I couldsmell burning metal. I could see sparks in the trees, drifting like fireflies.
All of those white pages on which I had planned to write my future were burning
around the edges, first red, then black, then blue with flame."
"Carefully, I made three piles: one for my mother, one for my father. one for my
little sister. Every day I carted stones and every day I added to the growing stacks.
Black for my mother, silver for my father, pure white for my sister, the hardest to
find. The white stons tossed into our garden were best of all, they were like
moonstones, aglow with light."
...I'd do more qu-i-otes, but I don't want you to get the story from me!
GO READ GREEN ANGEL.
I MEANT IT.
GODS DAMNIT i RELATE TO HER SO MUCH.