monsters

Fantasy, abandoned by reason, produces impossible monsters; united with it, she is the mother of the arts and the origin of marvels.

Deal with all this, live with myself, you mean? I honestly don't know. I stand often enough at the abyss of my soul, asking that same question, looking down into the dark crevices where the black monsters dwell on the bottom. They gaze up at me, and I look them in the eyes. __his also you are,_ they say, and I almost fall into the void.___nd then?__naxantis shrugged.__nd then? I turn around and go do what needs to be done. What else is there?

Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.

I just wonder_ Isn__ it better to start as a monster and become a hero? Isn__ that what creates belief? The idea that someone can change?

What was the purpose of a woman monster?It came out in a whisper. __hat am I for?

Her stories were made of badass women teasing monsters and running wild with dragons.

Serafina, Ava, Ling, and Becca swam inside. Neela followed them, but at the very last second, shield. __ can__,_ she said. __nce I go in, there__ no way out again. This is real. You__e real. All this time, a part of me was hoping you were only a dream.__he witch cocked her head. __nly a dream?_ she said mockingly. __ong ago, a great mage dreamed of stealing the gods_ powers. Abbadon was born of that dream. Atlantis died because of it. Now, because of a new dreamer, all the waters of the world may fall. There is nothing more real than a dream._ She nodded at the waters behind Neela. Silt was rising in the distance, a great deal of it. __he merman Traho knows this. He__ coming. If you do not believe me, perhaps he can convince you.

What would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark? It would be like sleep without dreams.

Humans and their wars. You call me monster, , but look what you've gone and done to one another! Good riddance to you now and, if I'm lucky, forever. Have your war. I'll have my radish stew.

Monsters cut children open and call it progress. Monsters murder entire groups of people without blinking but get upset when they have to wash human ash from their garden strawberries. Monsters are the ones who watch other people do these things and do nothing to stop it.

But these weren't the kind of monsters that had tentacles and rotting skin, the kind a seven-year-old might be able to wrap his mind around--they were monsters with human faces, in crisp uniforms, marching in lockstep, so banal you don't recognize them for what they are until it's too late.

Lucius didn__ believe in werewolves. He said that people were too horrible for any other monsters to exist, which he thought was a shame.

No, we aren't civilized, even in our business suits and high heels. People are as mean as ever, and as predictable. Underneath it all, we are not so different from what lurks in the wild, perhaps we're worse.

That was the thing to remember about all monsters, They love to frightenpeople, but the minute you stare them down, they turn tail and run.

We never see other people anyway, only the monsters we make of them.

About time,_ Brianna said.__ey, sorry, we were kind of busy,_ Quinn snapped. __nd I didn__ exactly realize I was on a schedule.___ don__ like what I have to do here,_ Brianna said. She handed Quinn the note.He read it. Read it again.__s this some kind of joke?_ he demanded.__lbert__ dead,_ Brianna said. __urdered.___hat?___e__ dead. Sam and Dekka are off in the wilderness somewhere. Edilio__ got the flu, he might die, a lot of kids have. A lot. And there are these, these monsters, these kind of bugs . . . no one knows what to call them . . . heading toward town._ Her face contorted in a mix of rage and sorrow and fear. She blurted, __nd I can__ stop them!__uinn stared at her. Then back at the note.He felt his contented little universe tilt and go sliding away.There were just two words on the paper: __et Caine.

Long ago there was a little boy who lived in the wood with his father and his sister. One night, the three of them were out collecting firewood when they heard a low, delicate whimper. The father realised it was an injured animal and ordered the children to fetch water from the lake, whilst he followed the sound. Hours past but the father did not return. The children became fearful for their father__ safety and in their moment of fright, they disobeyed their father in order to find him. And find him they did. However, he was no longer the man he once was. Both his eyes were slit through their centre, oozing blood down the paleness of his face. His neck had been torn open. The entirety of his midsection was split but nothing, not one, single organ, seemed to be left within. Each limb still remained, however they had been dragged, with some exceptional force, in the opposite direction to which they were designed. The children screamed and ran, though the image of their father__ mangled corpse seemed to chase after them. They slept. Within the whisper of the wind came the sweet tune of a woman__ song. The little girl awoke to the feeling of happiness, security and motherly love that the song carried with it. She needed to find the woman it had come from. Leaving her brother, she took off into the wood to try and find the singer. The little boy quickly entered into a spit of panic when he found his sister missing. He didn__ know whether he should call out for her, look for her or wait. But waiting could mean the worst, he thought, and so he took off into the woods after her. He had searched everywhere, every dark corner and decrepit tree, before reaching the lake. The moon reflected off its black surface, which drew his attention to something bobbing within the ripples. It was a leg. When he caught sight of the foot, the boy fell to his knees. He recognised the shoe. It was his sister__ shoe; his sister__ leg. Soon enough, the other body parts came drifting to join the leg, forming a rough manifestation of what was once his sister__ living body. Firstly, there was a head facing down in the water, then arms seemingly blue under the moonlight, and lastly a torso coated in her favourite dress. He felt sick, lost, terrified to his very core. Just as thoughts of never being whole again began to pain his chest, the boy heard the snapping of a twig behind him. He dared to turn around but all he found was a small, black-furred wolf. The wolf approached him timidly, whining deep in its throat to say to the boy that he too was lonely and afraid. The boy put out his hand for the wolf to join him and they sat together. Perhaps he would be OK. Perhaps all that had happened had led to this; something new. He rustled the fur of his new friend, starting with its back then its ear before going under its snout. His hand touched something wet and sticky. He drew it from the wolf to get a better look, only to find a crimson substance now clinging to his small hands. Blood. The wolf turned on the boy as its eyes became a pale blue before thwack! He tore the boy__ face from his head_

I think about the way Baz teased me earlier, how he wanted to know what it felt like to have someone who would do anything for me. Maybe it sounds comforting to know there is a person out there who would risk his life to protect you__ person who would back off when you asked and then come to you when you changed your mind. Especially when that person is as kind and decent as Jesse. The truth is, it__ terrifying. It__ just one more opportunity for me to be a monster.