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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.

Lucy Christopher

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Lucy Christopher
Age: 54
Author
Writer
WAL
Remember
Lights
Turning
Eucalyptus
Coffee
Blurs
Smell
Chilling
Air
Blazing
Arms
Blur
Fire
Conditioning
Light
Chill

More quotes by Lucy Christopher

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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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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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Far, far away something made a single ghostly howl, like a banshee in the dark.
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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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How would she find her herd? How would she find you?
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You won't be able to hurt me, or touch me.
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There were tiny stars behind my eyelids, a whole galaxy of tiny, spinning stars.
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You smiled then, and your whole face changed with it. It kind of lit up, like there were sunbeams coming from inside you.
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You looked at me, your eyes huge. You we're like a dog then, waiting for me to throw you a bone . . . waiting for something I could never give you.
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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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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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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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The land wants you here. I want you here, you called. Don't you care about that at all?
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Your beautiful mouth was moving like a caterpillar. I reached out and tried to catch it.
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You're right, he's a killer, you said. A rooster with some serious issues.
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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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It was like I’d stepped out into an afterlife. Only there were no angels.
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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 could hear you, talking to the daffodils and tulips, whispering to the fairies that lived inside their petals. Each separate flower had a different family inside it.
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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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