science-fiction

Just in case you__e wondering,_ Gage says, breaking the silence, __his alliance of ours doesn__ mean I like you.___eeling__ mutual._ Julian tosses him a disdainful look.

I__ sorry,_ he says. No two words were ever truer.Still, she says nothing. Once a shield, now her taciturnity is brandished like a blade, carving away his sanity. She__ the flaw in the paragon of life__he reason angels choose to dive to their downfalls in fiery comets of stardust.

I can____on__ do that to him,_ Summer says sharply. __r to myself. Besides, your feelings for me aren__ real. The Society did this to you. And if they did it to you, they probably scrambled my brain too. I can__ trust that any of this is real.

A layer of fine powder coats his skin.__y lungs are turning to concrete,_ Rob wheezes, hacking and spitting.__o are my eyes. How do I always get roped into these things?_ Avery coughs and pats Rob__ back in sympathy. A poof of dust billows from the contact.

You should__e told me,_ she repeats. __ecause here__ a news flash: You might__e wanted to shelter me, but there__ nowhere you can hide me that__l keep me safe from what__ inside my head.

Zane looks pensive, and then his lips twitch. __hey say most girls end up marrying a guy just like their dad.___h God _ That__ so lame,_ I say, spluttering as coffee dribbles down my chin. __ believe it__ a tried and tested theory,_ he says, standing up and wiping my chin with the back of his hand. I jolt at his touch.__ow it__ a theory? I thought it was a saying? Next you__l be telling me it__ a fact._ I flop back down on the couch.__mpirical evidence shows that sixty-eight percent of girls marry a guy who displays similar personality traits to her father ..._ His voice trails off as I shake my head. __hat?_ he asks, his palms open and raised.__ou really need to get out more. Where__ you glean that interesting nugget? The desperate men__ journal perhaps?

The Suitors Ball is fast approaching and it's a nasty reminder that my suitor will be chosen shortly. I feel sorry for the poor unfortunate guy, whichever one of them it happens to be.

I work my way through the rest of my dates, but I'm only there in body. The boys usually give up after the first hour; it's difficult to have a conversation all by yourself. My ratings plummet, but at least my air-time is minimal now, I'm not offering much in the way of entertainment these days.

... there are certain questions that must never be asked. Of anyone. Even oneself.

Let your life be a song. Let music be the background of whatever human things you will do for this blazing, spinning planet, and never let go of the good, never let go of the kindness.

Calling a book "Young Adult" is just a fancy way of saying the book is censored. People used to say they like to read books about romance, true crime, comedy, horror or science fiction. But these days people simply say they like to read "Young Adult" books. As if that were a topic. But that's the thing: Young Adult is not a topic, it's a level of censorship. Saying "I like Young Adult books" is just another way of saying "I like books that have been dumbed down for children. I like books with no big words and no difficult abstract concepts. Nothing that will strain my brain." People like to brag that they used to start reading at an early age, as if that were a badge of honor, a sign of intelligence. Nobody brags about when they started to watch TV. But books are being dumbed down so much these days, it's really not a sign of great intelligence when you're a grown up and you struggle your way through Green Eggs and Ham.

When you will you learn that we all have our place, our parts to play?__ scoffed, wincing as the slices on my back pulled. __hen will you learn that it__ up to you if you play those parts or not?

Do we exist because others perceive our existence, or is, indeed, our own affirmation enough?

Her eyes flashed, hot and angry, like lightening cutting through a red sunset.

Media was a battle ground. So was the internet. People began walking openly with their weapons, whether it was a gun or a camera. Drones were always skimming overhead, filming the violence of the second civil war of the United States.

While there are memories I wish I could dispose of, sometimes my memories are the only things that keep me sane.

I can't help what I have any more than you can help what you don't

Luck, however, is too dumb to remain consistent