Ms. Smartarse > Recent Status Updates

... the true story of which is known in its entirety to very few.

(There! If she had to read it to the class that last part could be said in a dark voice, and someone would be sure to ask what the true story was and then - well, and then she couldn't help tell the truth if they asked her, could she?)

She opened [the book] and saw the faint, dark marks of mold upon the first page. She turned the pages carefully. The interior pages were mostly intact, a few tiny spots on a corner or two. They made her think of snatches of Morse code. Nature writung upon paper and leather.

Catalina had told her the Kublai Khan executed his enemies by smothering them with velvet pillows so there would be no blood. [Noemi] thought this house, with all its fabrics and rugs and tassels, could smother a whole army.

It wasn't the individual acts that were suspicious. Anything else would have done - which is why our individual plots were unnecessary and rather futile. it was the success of [the general] that was suspicious. So he was recalled, and accused, condemned, murdered.
The Foundation wins again.

There was something odd about my guilty conscience. Almost like I felt the guilt for having murdered her, but in advance, and brought her to the place trying to make up for it, in a bizarre mental loop.

The ground quakes. The organs inside his body shake. The beams groan. Then the slow trickle of dust and the shallow, defeated breaths of Volkheimer a meter away.

The Assignation - ***

For portions of every day, she manages to lose herself in realms of memory: the faint impressions of the visual world before she was six, when Paris was like a vast kitchen, pyramids of cabbages and carrots everywhere; bakers' stalls overflowing with pastries; fish staked like cordwood in the fishmongers' booths, the runnels awash in silver scales, alabaster gulls swooping down to carry off entrails.

They retreat into Frederick's bedroom, which is populated with tin soldiers and model airplanes and wooden crates full of comic books. They lie on their stomachs and page through comics, feeling the pleasure of being outside of school, glancing at each other now and then as if curious to learn whether their friendship will continue to exist in another place.

...he sees that the airplane was not alone, that the sky teems with them, a dozen swooping back and forth, racing in all directions, and in a moment of disorientation, he feels that he's looking not up but down, as though a spotlight has been shined into a wedge of bloodshot water, and the sky has become the sea , and the airplanes are hungry fish, harrying their prey in the dark.

Some Passages in the Life of a Lion (Lionizing) - ** 1/2

Morella - ** 1/2

Berenice - ***

"Oh dear, what happened to your car?"
"It's just muffin batter," I say nonchallantly.
"Why would you smear muffin batter all over your car seats?"
WHY? Did she seriously ask 'why'?
"Oh, it's one of those Internet trends. To make it smell nice, plus you can occasionally give it a lick too."
Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer.

"Was the concert at least good?"
"What concert?" I reply, because I have no idea what he means.
When it comes to 'concert' I would think of Mozart or Beethoven, but definitely not Zombie Slasher.

MS. Found in a Bottle - **

"It's nice that she's getting a baby."
"One? She's getting twins as I hear. Which means she'll be missing twice as much!" [boss] rolls his eyes breathing heavily.
Is he serious now? Or do mothers of twins get more maternity leave?

Mom would make a huge fuss, should anyone find ME dead in the basement among all that trash. People could start talking: "Did you hear, Sybille is dead." - "Yeah, that's awful. And have you seen the STATE of that place? She was QUITE the messy girl!"

He raised his glass, stared at the inch of bourbon still remaining, and set it back down with a thump. "Um... water? And maybe a bathtub of coffee?"
To his credit, the server didn't bat an eye. "We're fresh out of bathtubs. Will a carafe of each do?"

"Sorry. I guess I've been... well..."
"A self-absorbed git?"
Gareth snorted a laugh. "That bad?"
"A talented self-absorbed git, so we made allowances, because what rock musician isn't a self-absorbed git from time to time?"

"What are you, the bloody trash police? Why didn't you [report me], then?"
Bryce didn't have a good answer for that, not one that he wanted to share with Kendrick anyway. He couldn't exactly say I've been sorting [the trash] for you because I liked watching you walk out to the curb and bend over the bins.

"I'll have you know I've taken many" - one - "classes on clinic office management. I've completed most" - about a third - "of the coursework for my RN degree, and I have extensive experience in" - getting fired from - "medical and dental practices of all types and sizes."

For a long time he sits very still, his eyes closed, allowing his mind to reach back and wander: there is much he doesn't romanticize about those years, not now, but at the time, when he hadn't known what to hope for, he hadn't known that life could be better than Lispenard Street.

And if he was to be honest, he was also flattered by JB's jealousy: to JB, he wasn't a cripple who was being cosmically repaid fir a lousy run; he was JB's equal, someone in whom JB saw only the things to envy and never the things to pity.

Once he had decided, he was fascinated by his own hopefulness, by how he could have saved himself years of sorrow by jut ending it - he could have been his own saviour. No law said he had to keep on living; his life was still his own to do with what he pleased.

...species evolve only to meet the pressures of new environments. In a stable environment, a species may remain unchanged for millions of Centuries. Primitive man evolved rapidly because his environment was a harsh and changing one. Once mankind learned to create his own pleasant and stable environment, he just naturally stopped evolving.

Maintenance was the foundation of Eternity. [...]
If every Specialist were to die of a stroke on the spot, Maintenance could keep Eternity going indefinitely. Yet were Maintenance to disappear, the Specialists would have to abandon Eternity in days or die miserably.

Advertisement! A device for forcing the unwilling into line. Did it matter to a ground-vehicle manufacturer whether a given individual felt an original or spontaneous desire for his product? If the prospect (that was the word) could be artificially persuaded or cajoled into feeling that desire and acting upon it, would that not be just as well?

Sebastian grabbed Irene's arm and began to hustle her toward the door. "Please, forgive my friend, she's, ah, English."
They made their escape back to the sidewalk outside. "Well, that could've gone better," Sebastian said.
"English?" Irene asked. "What has that to do with anything?"
"It was all I could think of at the moment. You're the one who tried to pay him off."

"The staff of the Ladysmith can sometimes be trying, but at least we librarians generally don't have to deal with the public."
"Is dealing with the public worse than dealing with a severed head?" he asked hefting the box.
She shuddered, then let out a half-laugh. "Infinitely."