Shatter Me (Shatter Me, #1)

by Tahereh Mafi

Raindrops are my only reminder that clouds have a heartbeat. That I have one, too.

live in a world of nothing. Hello. World. You will forget me.

The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong

and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.

I wish I could stuff my mouth full of raindrops and fill my pockets full of snow. I wish I could trace the veins in a fallen leaf and feel the wind pinch my nose.

Truth is a jealous, vicious mistress that never ever sleeps, is what I don’t tell him. I’ll never be okay.

I am nothing but novocaine. I am numb, a world of nothing, all feeling and emotion gone forever. I am a whisper that never was.

I remember there were rules. No more dangerous imaginations, no more prescription medications. A new generation comprised of only healthy individuals would sustain us.

The sick must be locked away. The old must be discarded. The troubled must be given up to the asylums. Only the strong should survive.

I am a being comprised of letters, a character created by sentences, a figment of imagination formed through fiction.

Hate looks just like everybody else until it smiles. Until it spins around and lies with lips and teeth carved into the semblance of something too passive to punch.

I don’t know if it’s because I can’t think straight or if it’s because I’m genuinely confused, but I’m struggling to reconcile Warner’s polarizing personalities.

“Why are you being nice to me?” The surprise on his face surprises me even more. “Because I care about you,” he says simply. “You care about me?” The numbness in my body is beginning to dissipate.

His smile is laced with dynamite. “Go to sleep.” “Go to hell.” He works his jaw. Walks to the door. “I’m working on it.”

“I’ll find a way to talk to you,” he says, and his hands are reeling me in and my face is pressed against his chest and the world is suddenly brighter, bigger, beautiful. The world suddenly means something to me, the possibility of humanity means something to me, the entire universe stops in place and spins in the other direction and I’m the bird. I’m the bird and I’m flying away.

Touch me and suffer the consequences. There have never been exceptions to this rule. Never but Adam. He left me standing sopping wet in the shower, soaking up a torrential downpour of hot tears.

Hope is hugging me, holding me in its arms, wiping away my tears and telling me that today and tomorrow and two days from now I will be just fine and I’m so delirious I actually dare to believe it.

I can shoot a hundred numbers through the chest and watch them bleed decimal points in the palm of my hand. I can rip the numbers off a clock and watch the hour hand tick tick tick its final tock just before I fall asleep. I can suffocate seconds just by holding my breath. I’ve been murdering minutes for hours and no one seems to mind.

wondered if your eye color meant you saw the world differently. If the world saw you differently as a result.

“You’re my bird,” I tell him. “You’re my bird and you’re going to help me fly away.”

“Laughter comes from living.” I shrug, try to sound indifferent. “I’ve never really been alive before.”