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It was like I’d stepped out into an afterlife. Only there were no angels.

Lucy Christopher

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Lucy Christopher
Age: 54
Author
Writer
WAL
Stepped
Afterlife
Angels
Angel
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More quotes by Lucy Christopher

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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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The people we care for aren't always the one we should
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How would she find her herd? How would she find you?
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When the darkness gets easier, you know you're sinking deeper, becoming dead yourself.
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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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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 love you, you said, simple as anything.
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You're right, he's a killer, you said. A rooster with some serious issues.
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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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There were tiny stars behind my eyelids, a whole galaxy of tiny, spinning stars.
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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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Your beautiful mouth was moving like a caterpillar. I reached out and tried to catch it.
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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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I remember that feeling of skin. It's strange to remember touch more than thought. But my fingers still tingle with it.
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And it's hard to hate someone once you understand them.
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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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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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I want you to see that the person I glimpsed running beside the camel, running to save my life, is the person you can choose to be.
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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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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.
Lucy Christopher