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Far, far away something made a single ghostly howl, like a banshee in the dark.

Lucy Christopher

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Lucy Christopher
Age: 54
Author
Writer
WAL
Away
Made
Something
Banshee
Like
Banshees
Ghostly
Howl
Single
Dark

More quotes by Lucy Christopher

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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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This be OK?' I asked, innocently. 'You want me to have no skin left?' You rolled your eyes. Actually, don't answer that one.
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There were tiny stars behind my eyelids, a whole galaxy of tiny, spinning stars.
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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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When the darkness gets easier, you know you're sinking deeper, becoming dead yourself.
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And it's hard to hate someone once you understand them.
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It was like I’d stepped out into an afterlife. Only there were no angels.
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Your beautiful mouth was moving like a caterpillar. I reached out and tried to catch it.
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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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The land wants you here. I want you here, you called. Don't you care about that at all?
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How would she find her herd? How would she find 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 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 mean, that star over there is blinking at me madly now, but for how long? An hour or two, or for the next million years? And how long will we sit here like this? Just another moment, or the rest of our lives? You know which one I'd prefer.
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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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You won't be able to hurt me, or touch me.
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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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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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I was surprised at her gentleness, her willingness to give in.
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Everyone wanted answers I wasn't ready to give.
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