The Language of Light, by Meg Waite Clayton.
I picked up the photograph he'd just set down, the eight-year-old girl craving her father's attention, his love. I still wanted to know that each time he'd said good-bye to me it had torn at him, each time he'd taken a picture of a child or climbed into his bed in some foreign hotel or sipped coffee as...
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
The Hunger Games
The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins.
I want to tell him that he's not being fair. That we were strangers. That I did what it took to stay alive, to keep us both alive in the arena. That I can't explain how things are with Gale because I don't know myself. That it's no good loving me because I'm never going to get married anyway and he'd just end...
