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Quote by Christina Engela

“Wait-a-minute! Reality kicked in after marking its spot `position vacant’ for the short and pleasant while. He groaned mournfully as he found himself staring at the inside of his own eyelids. The first thing that occurred to him was the terrible bone-wracking pain running up and down his spine. Pain? No, curiously enough. It was the memory of it that seemed to hurt so much. Maybe that’s what scared him. Or maybe it was the creaking of the ship around him…”

Quote by Christina Engela

Book:Blachart
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Blachart

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Christina Engela

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“RYLAN!" The yell comes out of nowhere and nearly gives me a heart attack. Tearing my eyes away, I watch as Babette comes crashing through the undergrowth. With no regard that I might be severely injured, she bounds over and grabs me in a bear hug. "Rylan! Oh my God, Rylan," Babette whimpers. She gently rocks me like I'm five years old again. There are some more footsteps, and Aidan and Nadia soon appear. Relief fills both their faces, with Nadia crying happily on Aidan's shoulder. Just as I think she's going to crush me, Babette finally pulls back, her face shiny with tears. "Rylan, I thought I'd lost you. I thought I was never going to see you again. I—" I hold up a hand. "Babette, it's okay. I'm alive. Not perfect, but I'm alive." I gesture to my leg. "Holy crap!" the twins say together, staring at my leg in horror and disgust. It only takes one glance for Nadia to really start sobbing. "Nadia! Nadia...don't cry," I murmur in an attempt to comfort her. Since she's such a happy person most of the time it hurts to see her like this. "It'll heal up. It's fine." "B-but it-it's horrible! You near-nearly drowned an-and now you're hurt!" Aidan pulls her into an awkward hug, trying to calm her down.”

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Book:Swamp Angel
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“After a few minutes, she speaks up again. “You’re next. Sing.” Anxiety grips Hallelujah’s chest, squeezing. “I don’t sing,” she says. “C’mon, it doesn’t matter if you’re bad. It’s not like this is a concert hall—” “She’s not bad.” Jonah’s back. “She has a great voice.” Rachel swings around to look from Jonah to Hallelujah. “Really? Now you have to—” “No." “But—” “I don’t sing,” Hallelujah repeats, turning away. Jonah joins them by the fire. The silence stretches out. Except it’s not really silent, not with the birds and wind and fire and how loud Hallelujah’s heart is beating. And then Jonah clears his throat. “You used to sing,” he says. “You were great.” Hallelujah ignores the compliment. She looks into the fire. She feels the last of the day’s happiness fading away, already a memory. “Why’d you quit?” Jonah asks. “Was it ’cause of Luke?” Hallelujah inhales deeply. She feels the familiar spark of anger in her gut. “Yes,” she says. “It was because of Luke. And you. And everyone else. So thanks for that.” Jonah’s face drops. She can see that she’s hit a nerve. Well, he hurt her first. The way he took Luke’s side, shutting her out. The loss of his friendship, when she needed a friend most. The loss of their voices harmonizing, when she needed music most. How she just hurt him can’t begin to compare to all of that.”

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“Jonah is something. Jonah’s opinion matters. And she doesn’t want him to hurt because of her. She and Jonah will never be what they were. Too much has happened. But maybe they could become something else. She decides to take the first step. “Jonah,” she says. He looks over at her. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice low. “Don’t be. I forgive you,” she tells him. It sounds so formal. I forgive you. But it helps to say it out loud. “Thanks. I don’t know if I deserve that. But thanks.” “You do. Of course you do.” Hallelujah says it firmly. “And—I want to.” I’ve missed you, she adds silently. She’s not ready to say that part. Not yet.”

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“Are you hurt?” the woman asks. “Just my—” Even after the water, her voice comes out as a dry hiss. She clears her throat and tries again. “Just my ankle.” “Can you tell us where the others are? Are they . . . ?” Charlie fades off, but she knows how the question ends. “They’re still out there. Still alive.” Hallelujah will not think about the alternative. But by not trying not to think about it, she’s thinking about it, and it’s making her feel panicky. “I was the only one who could walk, so I—” She gulps. Draws in a shaky breath. Charlie dismounts his bike and squats down next to her. “Go on,” he says. His voice is soft. His accent is southern. But not hillbilly southern. Deep South. He’s not from around here either. She can’t believe her mind is wandering like this. She tries to focus. “We found—Jonah found a trail, and I followed it to this road. They’re at a campsite by the trail. I . . .” Hallelujah falters. “I don’t know how far. I wasn’t walking very fast. We haven’t eaten in . . . a while. And Rachel—she’s sick. She was throwing up. And Jonah cut his leg and it wouldn’t stop bleeding. . . .” “Jesus,” the woman says.”

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“Do you know something about the broken people? They are exactly like a mirror that is been punched and dropped on the floor into pieces and been joined back together. When you stand in front of them they create hundreds of your reflections, but still none of them complete and the moment you try to touch them they will try to hurt you, not because they don't like your reflection in them, it is just because they are afraid of falling again and breaking into more pieces. If you could only see how it feels to be that broken mirror you would never do something that would break a mirror again.”

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Author:Akshay Vasu
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