Revenge: it's a dream of flames fueled by scorched remains that are lit to a torch and brought back upon the one who burned you.
there's something about trauma to the mind, body and soul. One day your normal and the next your different; you don't know what changed but you know nothing's the same and all of a sudden you are learning to adapt yourself to the same environment with a whole new outlook. I guess you realise your not invisible and every aching bone bleeds it's sorrow through anguish in your movements. One day it'll get easier, because I'm telling myself it will and that's the difference between becoming a pioneer through this disaster when all thought I'd be a slave to pity.
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there's something about trauma to the mind, body and soul. One day your normal and the next your different; you don't know what changed but you know nothing's the same and all of a sudden you are learning to adapt yourself to the same environment with a whole new outlook. I guess you realise your not invisible and every aching bone bleeds it's sorrow through anguish in your movements. One day it'll get easier, because I'm telling myself it will and that's the difference between becoming a pioneer through this disaster when all thought I'd be a slave to pity.
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When life is a horror....Don't look like a ghost!
There, conspicuous in the light of the conflagration, lay the dead body of a woman__he white face turned upward, the hands thrown out and clutched full of grass, the clothing deranged, the long dark hair in tangles and full of clotted blood. The greater part of the forehead was torn away, and from the jagged hole the brain protruded, overflowing the temple, a frothy mass of gray, crowned with clusters of crimson bubbles__he work of a shell.The child moved his little hands, making wild, uncertain gestures. He uttered a series of inarticulate and indescribable cries__omething between the chattering of an ape and the gobbling of a turkey__ startling, soulless, unholy sound, the language of a devil. The child was a deaf mute.Then he stood motionless, with quivering lips, looking down upon the wreck.
Bill suited the action to the word, getting up and leaning over the handlebars and pumping the pedals at a lunatic rate. Looking at Bill's back, which was amazingly broad for a boy of eleven-going-on-twelve, watching it work under the duffel coat, the shoulders slanting first one way and then the other as he shifted his weight from one pedal to the other, Richie suddenly became sure that they were invulnerable...they would live forever and ever.
This isn__ how things were supposed to happen. I was supposed to be me. Not this.
There's no time like the present to love deeply, claim our power and live our purpose!