Marsha > Recent Status Updates

"I brought you something," he says. "Somethings." "What are they, uni notes?" I sniff. "They're my diaries. From when I was fifteen until now. Read them. So you know you're not alone." I gape at him, then down at the box and back up again. "I want you to look after them. Will you do that for me?" "Yes." What else can I say?

Undiluted lime juice and brutal tequila fill my mouth to capacity and I wonder how I will manage to swallow it all. I jackknife away from the stream before they finish pouring, splashes of both ending up on my neck and T-shirt. I swallow the whole lot, battling my gag reflex. Fearing I'm going to lose the battle, I struggle to my feet and find my way out to the only bathroom.

One time she and Michaela were in the kitchen and I overheard her ask in a low voice, "Have you spoken to Brad lately?" and Michaela reply, "Yeah. Last week." They both started, almost imperceptibly, when I came into the room. "Who's Brad?" I asked. "A friend from back home," Michaela replied without missing a beat.

I touched the mouth of the bottle, then licked the residue off the tip of my finger and waited. After a few minutes of rummaging through old homework assignments and laundry, I figured Janice's hippie voodoo hadn't killed me yet, so I took a good-sized drink and then another. It wasn't bad. It wasn't good, but it wasn't bad. It kind of tasted like Everclear and dirt.

"Dad, you don't look so good." "We don't get lots of fruits and vegetables in here," he teased, but the joviality didn't reach his eyes. He leaned forward and took my hand in his. "Happy belated birthday, Soph." "No contact across the tables!" shouted a nearby prison guard. I resisted the urge to slam my head against the table as we pulled apart.

Mrs. Bailey's words had kindled something I had become all too accustomed to during the last year and a half of my life: Dad-related guilt. Back in the welcome privacy of my bedroom, I sat cross-legged on my perpetually unmade bed. Cluthcing the latest prison-issue envelope in one hand, I carefully removed the letter from inside it and dipped back into my father's life.

The killing lust that billowed from D at that instant made her jump back in fright. "To find Duke Gilzen? You could spend a year looking for him. I happen to know where he is." "Really?" said the hoarse voice. "No, I'm probably lying--so, what's it going to be?" "Lead the way."

Changing his footwork, Gilzen halted for a moment. Not missing their chance, his foe whipped its long spear around in a flashing arc--which Gilzen dipped at an angle to avert, his bizarre rib sword then bursting from his torso and stabbing into his opponent's abdoman's foe swung its long spear, severing the stark implement of death before the creature made a great leap back.

"This is some serious poins," the hoarse voice said. "It's even got me messed up. But we'll get over it eventually. Just hang in there. Lie down and rest." "Afraid not," said the Hunter. D stood up straight. A streak shot past his eye. Rain. It instantly became a downpour that left a haze of raindrops bouncing off him. "That's just rubbing salt in the wound."

The town of Toro was located approximately in the center of the northern Frontier. Since there was a mine in the area that produced an antimatter catalyst, the town had grown extremely prosperous despite its inconvenient location, with a population of around seven thousand and a reputation as one of the five most sucessful communities in the northern Frontier.

His face wore an evil grin he couldn't conceal. "On further consideration, it would be too cruel to leave young children here on this forsaken highway. Follow me." "Really?" Leda threw her arms around the baron's neck. However, if she could've seen the words inscribed in his heart, her reaction would have been very different. "Noble or not, I get hungry and thirsty. And when I do, your blood will be my lifelife."

I was pretty sure Wesley wouldn't approach me at school. Why would he? It wasn't like he'd miss me...even if I really, really wanted him to. He wasn't losing anything. He had plenty of replacement girls ready and willing to fill any gaps I might have left in his schedule. So there was no need for an avoidance plan on Monday morning. Except that I didn't even want to see him.

"Can we watch 'Atonement' again? Are you sick of it yet?" Yes, I was getting very sick of the mushy romances Jessica swooned over, but I could get over it. "I never get tired of James McAvoy. We can even watch 'Becoming Jane' if you want. It'll be a double feature." Her dark brown eyes sparkled with a few fresh tears. "You know what the worst part is, Bianca? I was gonna ask Harrison to go with me."

Apparently Mother's elegant clothing was something of a sight. Montgomery gave me one long, speechless look and went to the side table to pour himself a brandy. Edward wore a fine suit borrowed from Father. He smiled. "you look beautiful. Like one of the angels Milton wrote about." "A fallen one, maybe," I said.

The king had taken a special interest in our region and he set up a peaceful trade of water between Saldorra and us, the town of Cliffton, in the country of Palmarta. Our yellow dirt, when mixed with water, could be fired into the hardest ceramics the world has ever seen. "We're done salvaging the corn," Henry said. "Father and I won't leave to make the mud deliveries until tomorrow evening."

What the hell kind of name is Beresford? How could my grandmother do that to my father? Well, how could my grandfather's mother do that to my grandfather? My dad is a Third: Beresford Amadeus Lashley III, born and raised in Barbados, now the proudest Bajan in all of America.

My guide opens the door and motions me inside. The furnishings are simple but sturdy, and early-morning light pours in through the east-facing window. My eyes are immediately drawn to the woman who sits at the large desk int he middle of the room. She wears a black gown and wimple, and her pale face is striking in its beauty.

"I want to pull my weight, Annie. I feel bad that I don't have a job right now. Cousin Jacks is a real nice guy, Annie. He told me you don't like him, but that was only because you'd heard something he said wrong." I snorted. "Nice Cousin Jacks had gotten wasted and put his hand on my boob. Nothing to mishear there. "I don't think so, Leo."

Lincoln knew immediately who I was referring to. "Every now and then an angel that has chosen to exile just wants to live quietly among humans. We call them 'silents' and we leave them be, as long as they don't cause trouble. But most exiles are riddled with pride, desire, and the need for power. There's a reason they leave the angel realm to come here, and it rarely ends well for humans."

The evening leads, eventually, to having sex again in Tony Rich's flat. We fall through the door all over each other--in the white-hot state where you're just pawing at each other--kissing in that way that is a series of question. If I do...this, then you will do...that, and then I will do all these other amazing things.

This penis will undeniably step on my house and crush me to death. "That," I say, "is a very large penis." "Yes," Al says, quite urgently. "Suck it, and make it bigger." I will do no such thing, you joker. But what am I going to do? This is quite the dilemma. If I continue touching this cock, it will--as I have just been fairly warned--get even bigger. It I try and f**k it, it's just going to go straight through me.

Ali's boyfriend reveals how the first time he ever got high, it was from sniffing Wite-Out--"Well, it was own-brand corrector fluid"--and the conversation veers off into a knowledgeable five-minute discussion of what, exactly, can be bought at a stationer's shop that gets you high. Glue, marker pens, butane gas refills for lighters--I had no idea.

He told me about his mother being committed when he was nine years old--how his dad was a drunk, and he was left with three younger siblings to look after. And that he would put on his mother's coat, and sit his small brothers on his knee, and hug them, so they could smell the coat, and pretend it was her. "I read that was what you do with puppies," he explained. "And they all looked like little puppies."

The uncles move outside, into the back passage, and continue talking about politics. They can only talk about politics, becasue no one can ever ask, "How's work going?" With the exception of Uncle Jim--whom we refer to as the Rich Uncle, because he's the union rep at a car plant--none of the other uncles have work now. Big men sitting restlessly on tiny sofas in tiny houses, on the dole.

From the start, she was a woman of mystery: "With a hundred times the ability and strength of our best male athletes and strongest wrestlers, she apears as from nowhere to avenge an injustice or right a wrong! As lovely as Aphrodite--as wise as Athena--with the speed of Mercury and the strength of Hercules--she is known only as Wonder Woman, but who she is, or whence she came, nobody knows!"

Olive also kept diaries, in which she used secret codes. "The only practical emotional re-education consists in teaching people that there is a norm of psycho-neural behaviour, not dependent in any way upon what their neighbours are doing, or upon what they think their neighbours want them to do," Marston had written in "Emotions of Normal People".

The National Woman's Party vigil around the White House had ended, only to be followed by pickets protesting the treatment of the women who'd been arrested. Many, including Alice Paul, had gone on hunger strikes and were being forcibly fed. Burns had been beaten and hanged from chains. At the end of the month, Burns, Paul and twenty other women were released.

The Knights Academy was one of hte most extraordinary buildings Nate had ever entered. There were the four Lower halls - the Hall of White Cloud, filled with furnaces and metalwork forges; the Hall of Storm Cloud, with its timber stores and woodworking benches; the magnificent Hall of High Cloud, with its great glass dome for cloudwatching and the Hall of Grey Cloud, with its prowlgrin roosts and stables.

He took his clothes from the hook and put them on. Thick trousers with a belt and braces; an undershirt, a woollen wasitcoat and heavy leather topcoat. He buckled the ironwood shoulder guards into place and secured the strap of his mine helmet under his chin. Then he unlocked the small chest suspended beneath his bunk and lifted the lid. Inside was everything he owned in the world. It wasn't much.

Clay didn't dare look at the journal until close to midnight, when he was sure his counselor and his cabinmates were all asleep. Clay turned on his flashlight and shined it on the journal's cover. The ink-splat was just as he remembered: star-shaped but smeared. As soon as Clay opened the journal, where he expected to see the words MAGIC SUCKS!, he instead saw a date and the title "The Memoirs of Randolph Price".