Shannon > Recent Status Updates

"You can't force me to be a test subject."
"Yes," said Adri, her own breathing labored. "I can. So long as you are under my guardianship."
"You don't really think this will save Peony, so don't pretend this is about her. She has days. The chances of them finding a cure before—"
"Then my only mistake was in waiting too long to be rid of you. Believe me, Cinder. You are a sacrifice I will never regret."

"I'm so sorry," said Cinder. "I love her too."
Adri squeezed the frame. "Don't insult me," she said, sliding the frame closer to her. "Do your kind even know what love is? Can you feel anything at all, or is it just ... programmed?"

Well ... I liked it more than I thought I would.

Everything is so loud and boisterous around me. Thumping through my brain. The light is leaking. But I gather myself long enough to commit an astonishing act of bravery. In the middle of town, in front of everyone, I lean in, then and there, and I kiss her, quickly, on the lips. And they're as soft as I remember. I hope I haven't impaled her eye with the frame of my glasses.

"Don't you want to go see her so you can link arms and finish each other's sentences and share pieces of food and smooch under the fireworks and serenade her with panpipes?"
"Panpipes?"
"Panpipes, Chuck. It's been verified by scienticians. In Paris. Which is a city full of blouses like you. Girls can't resist being seduced when you blow bamboo flutes. It's fact. It's in their fizzyology."

"Again, all due respect to your insight into the mind of a pirate, but I firmly believe that no matter how optimistic you are, or how desperate or carefree, the issue remains, sir, that should you choose to become romantically entangled with a mermaid there's going to come a point where the fact of their weird fish body is going to present a problem. Do you understand?"
"But, Chuck, the boobies."

"Incorrect, Chuck. It's not the fish part that's the attraction. Pirates see fish every day. Their trick is just to focus on the boobies and squint away the fishy bits, which is easy with enough rum. As a pirate, you take your boobies, you enjoy them, and you don't complain. Pirates aren't fussy. It's really one of those 'glass half full'-type things."

"But they're half fish! Surely that alone is going to negate the thrill of boobies."
"What? Of course not. Chuck, it's harrrrd being a pirate. It's lonely. You take what you can get on the open seas."
"Noted. Sure. But I feel we're missing my central point here, and that is: they're half a fish. You could potentially deep-fry the lower part of their body with chips and it would be delicious."

"See, Chuck, while you're mincing about saying clever things to girls, some of us are training themselves to a point of immaculate perfection for your protection. It must be nice for you to have a horse like me in your stable. You're a citizen. You can afford to rest on your laurels. Because you know that Jeffrey Lu is standing in the path of tyranny."

Jeffrey Lu cracks me up. He's an awesome character.

Late in the morning on New Year's Eve, Jeffrey Lu is declaring his intention to master the One-Inch Punch.
"You have a one-inch what?"
"You're an idiot. The One-Inch Punch. It's karate. It's Bruce Lee. He introduced it to the greater martial arts community. Jeffrey Lu is going to make it famous."

There's a low dog with its teeth in my shirt, hassling and tugging and pulling me down with the insistent thought that it wasn't enough, that it would never ever be enough.
Because Jeffrey Lu was a hero today and when he got to the top they dragged him back to the bottom.
Because those men struck his father, over and over, and they destroyed something beautiful. And nothing will ever happen to them.

Sorry means you feel the pulse of other people's pain as well as your own, and saying it means you take a share of it. And so it binds us together, makes us as trodden and sodden as one another. Sorry is a lot of things. It's a hole refilled. A debt repaid. Sorry is sometimes self-pit. But Sorry, really, is not about you. It's theirs to take or leave.

Every instance in my life, I've felt like the exact opposite of Superman. Except this time, this moment right now. Because right now I know I would save the girl. I know that I would rather risk the planet than let harm befall Eliza Wishart. I would save her in a second. Because I can imagine her and me huddled safe together while the earth falls under evil designs, but I can't imagine the world without her in it.

"You're an idiot."
"You're an idiot! I saw you! Kissing! With your mouth! Disgusting."
I have to smile.
"You're just jealous."
"Jealous? Chuck, you're approximately twelve times stupider than you look. I'm the town hero! I've just created history! Jealous? Pffft! No, I say. Why would I be? Superman doesn't lay around smooching Lois, he's got shit to do!"

What I'm feeling, I think, is joy. And it's been some time since I've felt that blinkered rush of happiness. This might be one of those rare events that lasts, one that'll be remembered and recalled as months and years wind and ravel. One of those sweet, significant moments that leaves a footprint in your mind. A photograph couldn't ever tell its story.

"That's what I reckon God really is, Charlie. It's that part inside me that's stronger and harder than anything else. And I reckon prayer is just trustin in it, havin faith in it, just askin meself to be tough. I don't need to trick meself into thinkin anyone else is listenin, or even cares. Because it doesn't matter. I matter. Because I have a good heart, and fuck this town for makin me try to believe otherwise."

"I guess it must be comforting to actually believe in God and Jesus and all that. It must fill in all that space so you don't have to worry about it anymore. But it's a bit like closing a door when there's a cold draft, isn't it? It's still cold out there, it's just that you don't notice anymore because you're warm."

"People don't like looking up and feeling small or lost. That's what I think prayer is all about. It doesn't matter which stories they believe in, they're all doing that same thing, kind of casting a line out to outer space, like there's something out there to connect to. It's like people make themselves part of something bigger that way, and maybe it makes them less afraid."

Jasper Jones has lost his girl, maybe his best friend too. His only friend. It seems so infinitely sad to me, I can't even imagine. To lose someone so close, someone he had his hopes pinned on. What a horrible series of events this has been. But Jasper Jones has to keep that poker face. He has to throw that cloak over his heart. I wonder how much of Jasper's life is spent pretending he doesn't give a shit.

What kind of lousy world is this?
A world that kills parents and makes orphans of children and kicks away cricket balls and lies through its sharp teeth. That makes a decent person feel like rubbish all his life because he's poorer and browner and motherless. That hosts three billion folks, each of them as lonely as the other. A world that's three-quarters water, none of which can quench your thirst.
Bugger it.

Jeffrey salutes me.
"Chuck, I bid you a Jew."
"And I owe your revoir," I say, and watch him leave. He scuttles off, his shoulders rounded slightly in a way I've not seen before.

"When Cheeses started saying, 'Oh, you know, don't worry. It's not all over. After this stuff, you get to sit on a cloud and learn the harp and play volleyball in the nude, as long as you're good,' everyone just nodded and smiled and worried about behaving themselves instead."
"I think Cheeses hates your tone."
"Of course he does, Chuck. I am the speaker of the troooth. I should start a cult."

I'm just sniffing my armpit as Eliza walks back out, her book in a brown bag. I snap my arm down so hard, I wind myself.
We set off. I am shitting myself. Should I hold her hand? Should I do that? I should. I should do that. But my palms are sweating. Profusely. Surely that would be bad. Off-putting. It would be like giving her a clammy invertebrate to hold. So I shouldn't. I shouldn't do that.

Um, yeah. I'm pretty sure I know the "twist" now too. I don't think she's trying to hide it though.

Helllooo Prince Kaito. Nice to meet you, with your copper-brown eyes and black hair.

A few days late but I'm finally starting! I did find out that this author used to write Sailor Moon fan fiction and this series is the "Lunar Chronicles" ... hmm. Also, this takes place in "New Beijing" and all of the Asian people have become an amalgamation to create the "Eastern Commonwealth." Trying to keep an open mind though ...

Yay! I liked it! Now to start the actual book ...

Cinder gaped down at Iko's smooth body, beat-up treads, three-fingered prongs, and wondered what it would be like to be stuck in such a body and not know if you were human or robot.
"Right. A glitch." She feigned a nonchalant smile, hoping the android couldn't detect the grimace that came with it. "Maybe that's all it is."

"I don't think I can cry anymore." She hesitated. "Maybe I never could."
"Is that so? How peculiar. Perhaps it's a programming glitch."
She stared down into Iko's single sensor. "A programming glitch."
"Sure. You have programming, don't you?" She lifted a spindly arm and gestured toward Cinder's steel prosthetic. "I have a glitch, too. Sometimes I forget that I'm not human."

: (

Iko was speaking again and Cinder shook her head to clear it. "—can’t stand to see them cry, especially lovely Peony. Nothing makes an android feel more useless than when a human is crying.

: (