Don’t worry, I said, you’re the sea, and it’s impossible for the sea to drown. There’s nothing big enough for you.
Talk to me. Make me feel male.
But one is a writer, and one is a hero, because it is the only thing they could possibly be.
She knew how to read a newspaper article when she was five; now she cannot tell Chinese from hieroglyphics.
As I walked home, I felt it—little wings against my lungs.
Two houses, virtually identical in structure and appearance. Odd, right?
At night he could hear her rustling the curtain. He would whisper his questions to her.
Its characters and events, while sinister, are plausible: an uncomfortable mirror to our own world.
There’s an our kind and a their kind.
I was Indiana Jones, hanging from a rope above a pit of snakes, my moves skilled and sure. My recorder was below, begging to be rescued like whatever unrealistic female heroine Jones would fall in love with and then totally forget about by the sequel.