4
" History, lie of our lives, mire of our loins. Our sins, our souls. Hiss-tih-ree: the tip of the pen taking a trip of three steps (with one glide) down the chronicle to trap a slick, sibilant character. Hiss. (Ss.) Tih. Ree.
He was a pig, a plain pig, in the morning, standing five feet ten on one hoof. He was a pig in slacks. He was a pig in school. He was a pig on the dotted line. But in my eyes it’s always the ones signing dotted lines that become pigs.
Did this pig have a precursor? He did, indeed he did. In point of fact, dating all the way back to the Biblical Age. Oh where? About everywhere you look there's pigs giving that fancy ol’ snake a chase. Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can always count on a fuckin’ pretentious sarcastican for a fancy prose style. "
― Brian Celio , Catapult Soul
6
" It happened as it always did, swallowing her swiftly and completely. Intense. Painful. Quick, vivid colors spun beneath her eyelids. Sounds were sharp inside her skull. Fire shot up through her bones. She may have been screaming and she wouldn’t have known. There was smoke in her nose, thick and black, and she couldn’t breathe. It stung her eyes and licked at her skin. Wood and metal crashed down as skin blistered and popped and she knew this wasn’t her, knew it was someone else, someone with a bigger body, bigger boots and darker jeans, and big ol’ hands with scars on the fingers. Men’s hands. Nails blunt and dirty with oil and grease and burning and- The cars were on fire. Paper burned and curled and rags ignited, the cement floor pockmarked by flash fires. Meat withered in her nose and she realized it was her. Him. Dancing embers blackened and burned bone. He screamed and she hoped she was not. He writhed and she really hoped she was not. He was dying, dead, and- "
― Angele Gougeon , Sticks and Stones
12
" Actually, yeah, I did buy a few new things,” she confirmed, then she teased a little more by adding, “I think Pete is going to really enjoy my outfit tomorrow night.”
“Pete seems to like you no matter what you’re wearing,” Luke grumbled. “So, what did you buy for good ol’ Pete?”
Darn, if he didn’t sound jealous! Could it be possible? It’d mean she meant something to him. Something more than Dr. Doolittle anyway. “I bought a mini skirt.” She wouldn’t tell him about the hair and the shoes. Or what she bought to wear under the skirt.
She heard him cough. Hard. As if having a spasm. “Luke? Are you okay?”
A couple more very tense seconds of coughs, and then, “Did you say a skirt?”
She wanted to smack him. "
― Anne Rainey , Forbidden Fruit
13
" Alessandro shrugged and pushed the blade in, dragging it down the man’s skin, making him cry out. He struck him again with his fist, blood spurting onto Alessandro as well. “Did Arturo tell you that the mother of my child was in that limo? She’s carrying my baby inside of her, and that her son was in the limo too? I’m sure he did. I’m sure he left explicit instructions as to who exactly you were supposed to dispose of, didn’t he?”
“He’ll kill me. I swear, he’ll kill me,” the man cried, tears mixing in with his
blood.
“Next, I’ll take an eye, you snivelling little shit!” Alessandro growled, raising his bloody blade to the man’s left eyeball. The unmistakable scent of urine filled the air.
Alessandro stepped back in disgust and turned to Jason and his other man, Marty, two of the best Dardano soldiers, loyal and efficient. They took his cue and slipped on their brass knuckles.
“Just say the words, ol’ boy, and we’ll stop this,”
“Fuck you,” the man shouted.
Alessandro smirked. “Such defiance for a man who just pissed himself.” He crossed his arms as Marty and Jason went to work.
It only took a minute. “All right. Okay! Stop! Stop! Fine, I’ll talk! "
― E. Jamie , The Vendetta (Blood Vows, #1)
