6
" One of my earliest memories was of a maze of pale green walls. The corridors never ended, no matter which way I turned. I was running, my feet bare, my paper-thin gown flapping around skinny foal-like legs, and the demons kept on coming. I’d run the maze before, because I always knew which way to turn to find the little clear plastic box. I’d run, and run. Lungs aching, throat burning, my feet slapping against the smooth floor, and the sound of scrabbling claws chased me down. I made it to the box, every time (I’d learned later, there were others who hadn’t) and once inside, I’d yank the clear door closed. The demons didn’t see the box. They saw only me, the wraith-like little half-blood girl. They would launch themselves—claws extended, jaws wide, eyes ablaze—and slam into my box, sending shudders rattling through my bones. They’d snap and snarl, hook their teeth into the box and gnaw at its edges, desperate to get to the feast huddling a few millimeters away.
Flooding, the Institute had called it.
At first I was afraid, and I learned how to run. Then I was angry, and I learned how to fight with my fists and my element. Then, I got even. I lured those demons into a corner and ambushed them, killing every last one. After countless visits to the maze, after weeks, years, I’d started liking it, and killing became as natural as breathing. It was what I was good at. What I was made for.
What I lived for.
© Copyright Pippa DaCosta 2016. "
― Pippa DaCosta , Chaos Rises (Chaos Rises, #1)
15
" Green light,” she called, and I watched Becky run ahead until she was just a few inches from Michelle. Kayla was right next to her. Just as she reached out to tag Michelle, Kayla pushed into Becky’s back hard, and Becky flew forward.I gasped. Michelle turned around as Kayla tagged her arm. Becky fell at Michelle’s feet. She wrapped her arms around Michelle’s legs to catch herself. Michelle fell forward onto her knees, and Becky bumped her mouth against Michelle’s shoe.“Time!” I called, stopping the game.“Sis, you all right?” Heather asked Michelle.Michelle didn’t answer. She looked at Becky who was on her knees, staring at the ground. “You okay?” I asked Becky.She started to cry. I didn’t know if she really was hurt or just looking for attention. I sighed and looked away, waiting for her to start screaming her head off.Luke ran over to us. He looked at her, pointed, and cried, “Beck, you’re bleeding!”I looked up. Blood was trickling out of her mouth. She gasped. I glared at Luke for scaring her. He closed his mouth. Becky opened hers wider.“Kayla, why are you such a little brat?” asked Michelle, slapping off the grass stuck to her knees. “It was an accident!” Kayla insisted.“Yeah right!” Michelle yelled, “You just wanted to win! It’s just a game!” Kayla stood there looking guilty. I looked at Becky and noticed that one of her teeth was missing. I looked down, found a piece of white on the ground, and picked it up with my thumb and pointer finger. It was Becky’s tooth.“Becky, look!” I said, holding it up, “You lost your first tooth!”- The Castle Park Kids "
18
" John and I have made this stuff our hobby, in the way that an especially attractive prisoner makes a hobby out of not getting raped. Jesus, that’s a terrible analogy. I apologize. What I’m saying is that it’s self-preservation. We didn’t choose this, we just have talents that makes us the equivalent of that new guy in the cell block who has a slim, hairless body and kind of looks like a woman from behind, and has an incredibly realistic tattoo of boobs on his back. He may have no desire at all to ever even touch a penis, but it’s going to happen, even if it’s just in the process of frantically slapping them away. Jesus, am I still talking about this? [John—please delete the above paragraph before it goes off to the publisher]. "
― David Wong , This Book Is Full of Spiders (John Dies at the End, #2)
19
" Time isn't an orderly stream. Time isn't a placid lake recording each of our ripples. Time is viscous. Time is a massive flow. It is a self-healing substance, which is to say, almost everything will be lost. We're too slight, to inconsequntial, despite all of our thrashing and swimming and waving our arms about. Time is an ocean of inertia, drowning out the small vibrations, absorbing the slosh and churn, the foam and wash, and we're up here, flapping and slapping and just generally spazzing out, and sure, there's a little splashing on the surface, but that doesn't even register in the depths, in the powerful undercurrents miles below us, taking us wherever they are taking us. "
― Charles Yu , How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe
20
" What does it mean to be an advocate?
In its broadest sense, advocacy means “any public action to support and recommend a cause, policy or practice.” That covers a lot of public actions, from displaying
a bumper sticker to sounding off with a bullhorn. But whether the action is slapping something on the back of a car or speaking in front of millions, every act of advocacy involves making some kind of public statement, one that says, “I support this.” Advocacy is a communicative act. Advocacy is also a persuasive act. “I support this” is usually followed by another statement (sometimes only implied): “...and you should, too.” Advocacy not only means endorsing a cause or idea, but recommending, promoting, defending, or arguing for it. "
― , Living Proof: Telling Your Story to Make a Difference (Expanded)
