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326 pages, Paperback
First published June 19, 2012
"We'll become reanimated corpses navigating a sorry imitation of our glory days and this is why I don't understand the point in going on, why it's so wrong to give up. There's nothing left."
"It was so easy," he said. "Just physically ... doing that. When it was over, I thought ... people ... we aren't made of anything. That's how easy it was."
*RE-READ FOR HALLOWEEN*
“She always said I'd die without her and she left anyway.”
“But you didn't die.”
“I did,” I say. “I'm just waiting for the rest of me to catch up.”
I run my hands over my body, feeling out my bruises without being able to see them, and I think about what Rhys said, how we're not made of anything. I wonder if my father felt the same way about me, Lily. Maybe once he realized it the first time, he wanted to realize it over and over because it made him feel like he was made of something.
“I really hope I don’t see it, Sloane,” he says softly. “I really hope you wake up.”
“But you didn't die,” he says.
“I did,” I say. “I'm just waiting for the rest of me to catch up.”
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“This is not a test. Listen closely. This is not a test."
But I think she's wrong. I think this is a test.
It has to be.”
I don't know how I'm going to do this, move through the hours like someone who wants to still be breathing when I had so firmly made up my mind to stop.Wow. This little book has completely floored me. I was not expecting something so deep, so very melancholic yet shot through with the irrepressible human need to hope. Not just irrepressible, Summers shows us that hope is irreducible. Stripped to its basest core, hope just might be the evolutionary urge that has kept us going as a species for millennia -- in the face of disasters and war, atrocities and cruelty, in the face of bottomless grief, crushing despair, paralyzing loneliness and love lost. And I have no doubt that when the zombie apocalypse comes, it will be this amazing capacity to salvage hope from the ruins that will save us.
Women and men. Girls and boys. People I might've known but can't recognize anymore. There is every shade of blood--black, brown, red, pink. All eyes looking at us through that same milky film that sees us for what we are and what they are not anymore.
I have a text message.
It's the end of the world and I have a text message.
You can lose everything in seconds.