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Quote by Gayle Tzemach Lemmon

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Ashley's War: The Untold Story of a Team of Women Soldiers on the Special Ops Battlefield

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Author

Gayle Tzemach Lemmon
Gayle Tzemach Lemmon

Gayle Tzemach Lemmon is an American journalist born in 1973. She is renowned for her reporting on the Middle East, particularly Afghanistan and Pakistan. Lemmon's work often focuses on the roles of women in conflict and reconstruction, and her book 'The Dresser of Wolves' delves into the lives of Afghan women under the Taliban regime. more

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“Seriously? I wouldn't need to be rescued. I would find out which way was downhill and locate the nearest water source to follow or I'd climb high and look for gaps in tree lines due to roads, power cables, or train tracks. At night, I'd look for artificial light sources..." I paused when I noticed the smirk had been totally wiped off Jack's face. "Do you want me to tell you how I'd read the night sky? I can do that, too. Oh, and I also know how to make a fire out of sticks and build a rudimentary shelter. I joined an orienteering club when I was a kid to learn outdoor survival skills, and every Christmas I asked Santa for survival gear." Silence. "Boom." I opened my hand and closed it again, giving Jack my most satisfied smile. "Mic drop.”

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“After a while Mary said, “Zsadist?” “Yeah?” “What are those markings?” His frowned and flicked his eyes over to her, thinking, as if she didn’t know? But then . . . well, she had been a human. Maybe she didn’t. “They’re slave bands. I was . . . a slave.” “Did it hurt when they were put on you?” “Yes.” “Did the same person who cut your face give them to you?” “No, my owner’s hellren did that. My owner . . . she put the bands on me. He was the one who cut my face.” “How long were you a slave?” “A hundred years.” “How did you get free?” “Phury. Phury got me out. That’s how he lost his leg.” “Were you hurt while you were a slave?” Z swallowed hard. “Yes.” “Do you still think about it?” “Yes.” He looked down at his hands, which suddenly were in pain for some reason. Oh, right. He’d made two fists and was squeezing them so tightly his fingers were about to snap off at the knuckles. “Does slavery still happen?” “No. Wrath outlawed it. As a mating gift to me and Bella.” “What kind of slave were you?” Zsadist shut his eyes. Ah, yes, the question he didn’t want to answer. For a while it was all he could do to force himself to stay in the chair. But then, in a falsely level voice, he said, “I was a blood slave. I was used by a female for blood.” The quiet after he spoke bore down on him, a tangible weight. “Zsadist? Can I put my hand on your back?” His head did something that was evidently a nod, because Mary’s gentle palm came down lightly on his shoulder blade. She moved it in a slow, easy circle. “Those are the right answers,” she said. “All of them.” He had to blink fast as the fire in the furnace’s window became blurry. “You think?” he said hoarsely. “No. I know.”

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“How much of my body is really me? My face is me, for sure. Anyone who looked at my face would know it was me.Even with my hair wet and drawn back it's me. But after that? If I showed myself a picture of myself from the shoulders down, would I be sure it was me? Could I identify myself that way? I close my eyes and ask myself what my feet look like. I only kind of know. Same with my hands. I have no idea what my back looks like. I let it define me, but I can't even define it.”

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Book:Another Day
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