Despite the horror, we survivors were endowed with a will to survive. Or instinct. Or maybe it was faith.
And as she fell apart, her shattered pieces began to bloom__ blossoming until she became herself exactly as she was meant to be...
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And as she fell apart, her shattered pieces began to bloom__ blossoming until she became herself exactly as she was meant to be...
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As survivors and procreators, we unravel stories that at their root are not dissimilar from the habitual behaviors seen in nature. But as beings who know they will die we digress into episodes and epics that are altogether dissociated from the natural world. We may isolate this awareness, distract ourselves from it, anchor our minds far from its shores, and sublimate it as a motif in our sagas. Yet at no time and in no place are we protected from being tapped on the shoulder and reminded, __ou__e going to die, you know._ However much we try to ignore it, our consciousness haunts us with this knowledge. Our heads were baptized in the font of death; they are doused with the horror of moribundity.
My heart sped up at the change in him. It was rare that I saw the hard-faced version of Preston standing in front on me. I was used to funny, pain-in-the-ass Preston. Easy-going Preston. The Preston who cuddled me when I needed it and held my hair back when I was throwing up, but before me was I__-not-taking-this-shit Preston. Oh fuck!_ ~ Ella, A Perfect Moment
This is the real Madame. I can see why she hides herself in accents and gems and exotic perfumes. I can see why she's grown to hate anything to do with love. She isn't evil or corrupt the way that Vaughn is. She's broken. Only broken.
when traumatic events are of human design, those who bear witness are caught in the conflict between victim and perpetrator. All the perpetrator asks is that the bystander do nothing. He appeals to the universal desire to see, hear, and speak no evil. The victim, on the contrary, asks the bystander to share the burden of pain. The victim demands action, engagement and remembering.
She needed to recover. His father had died in January; it was only the end of May. They needed to stick to the routine they'd established during the intervening months. in that way, their life would return to its original shape, like a spring stretched in bad times but contracting eventually into happiness. That the world could come permanently unsprung had never occurred to him.