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Quote by J.L.Clayton

“Stalked He stalks her waiting for the right time, a single purpose stirring within his mind. His soul longs for that one deep connation, as his body seeks its final redemption. For he is the hunter and she his prey, her power untouched waiting for the moment to be set free on that final day. One sweet tasted form his lips as death he willed her way.”

Quote by J.L.Clayton

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J.L.Clayton

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“Normal” is all about perception. I mean, isn’t “normal” what the majority of people do? So what if suddenly ninety-nine people out of a hundred decide to walk their iguanas down the street while wearing a tutu? Wouldn’t the one guy who didn’t own an iguana and wear a tutu be the freak? And isn’t it the ones who seem normal on the outside who, in actuality, know where the bodies are buried in the backyard or are secretly in love with their toaster?”

“As we pass the mirror in the bedroom, my attention is drawn to the lovely couple in the reflection. There is a man, tall with broad shoulders. His red hair cut short. He has nothing but a towel on. In his arms is a female, slender but muscular. Her wheat colored hair is pulled back in a neat bun on top of her head. Both of their skin is smooth and flawless, a little paler than most, but still complete perfection. You can tell by the way the man holds her, he cares a lot for her. You can also tell that he is afraid of holding her too tight, not wanting to crush her smaller frame into his body. Looking at this young pair in the mirror, one can only wonder of all the possibilities. What led them to this place? What is in store for them? Will there be a happy ending?”

“Her mum is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, when Summer exits. “Gage left from here a few minutes ago,” she says, tone neutral. “His hair was ruffled.” She gestures with her hand above her head. The haze Gage left Summer in vanishes. She frowns. Her mum sighs and steps forward. Smooths her daughter’s hair. “If he hurts you,” she says in a mild tone, “I’ll kill him.”

“When I see your scars, do I want to erase them? Absolutely. But not your physical scars. The real ones, beneath the surface. The ones that compel you to stay silent or force you to cringe. Those are the scars I want to obliterate.” His finger circles the dip of a burn mark on her forearm. “This is a battle trophy and nothing to be ashamed of. Every one of your scars makes you more beautiful to me.”