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This be OK?' I asked, innocently. 'You want me to have no skin left?' You rolled your eyes. Actually, don't answer that one.

Lucy Christopher

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Lucy Christopher
Age: 54
Author
Writer
WAL
Left
Skin
Skins
Answer
Asked
Answers
Eyes
Actually
Innocently
Eye
Rolled

More quotes by Lucy Christopher

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In a moment, when I'm ready, I will turn off this computer and that will be it. This letter will be finished. A part of me doesn't want to stop writing to you, but I need to. For both of us.
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I didn’t look back, but I knew you were still watching. It probably sounds weird, but I could just feel it. The hairs on my neck bristled when you blinked.
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I remember the lights turning into blurs of blazing fire. I remember the air-conditioning chilling my arms. The smell of coffee smudging into the smell of eucalyptus.
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Your beautiful mouth was moving like a caterpillar. I reached out and tried to catch it.
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Had you been lying all along? Mum gently stroked my hair. I whispered into her shoulder. “I can’t go back. Not yet. I can’t leave.” And she held my head tight to her chest and wrapped her arms around me. “You don’t have to,” she said, rocking me. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, not anymore.” And I cried.
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There is no need to put your heart in a bottle, then you will die. - Ty from Stolen
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You nodded towards the cup. Want more? I shook my head. What about the car? Didn't find it. You were heading back towards me when I found you. Towards . . . ? You nodded. So I reckoned the car had probably got stuck or died somehow, and you were just coming home. Home? Yeah. Your mouth twitched. Back to me.
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Doesn't that hurt? I said. Yep. How do you keep them in there? I'm stubborn. You grinned. Stubborn as a waddywood. And anyway, pain means it's healing. Not always.
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Those blue, blue eyes, icy blue, looking back at me as if I could warm them up. They’re pretty powerful, you know, those eyes, pretty beautiful, too.
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But what else can I do, other than to plead with you like this? Other than to write down my story, our story, to show you that what you've done . . . to make you realize that what you did wasn't fair, wasn't right.
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I was surprised at her gentleness, her willingness to give in.
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I didn’t want the person standing there, beside the bed, to have the same face I’d found so attractive at the airport. But you were there all right: the blue eyes, blondish hair, and tiny scar. Only you didn’t look beautiful this time. Just evil.
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The people we care for aren't always the one we should
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It was so big, that view. I’ll never remember it properly. How can anyone remember something that big? I don’t think people’s brains are designed for memories like that. They’re designed for things like phone numbers, or the color of someone’s hair. Not hugeness.
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If there'd been an astronaut on the moon right then, I'm sure I could have seen him. Perhaps he could have looked down and seen me too... the only one who could.
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I chased money, pretended to be someone else to get it. It got easier the longer I did it... but that's the trap, see? When the deadness gets easier, you know you're sinking deeper, becoming dead yourself.
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It was like I’d stepped out into an afterlife. Only there were no angels.
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The sand stretched out gray and ghostlike and illuminated, a column of light leading forward. It was like something a dead person would see, a tunnel leading toward heaven.
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Where are you going? I asked. The middle of nowhere. I thought this was it. Nah. You shook your head. This is just the edge.
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It happened like this. I was stolen from an airport. Taken from everything I knew, everything I was used to. Taken to sand and heat, dirt and danger. And he expected me to love him. This is my story. A letter from nowhere.
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