Post by Moony on Nov 5, 2008 16:51:51 GMT -5
(Olive’s Ocean; pg 163)
She had only meant to wait it out, wait unnoticed until he had passed, taking baby steps, wanting to disappear, but then she actually did disappear, dropping into the water that was everywhere—no sides no top no bottom—and taken so by surprise that it didn’t matter that she was close to shore or that she was a good swimmer because she panicked and in her panic she swallowed water and scratched her cheek and somehow clawed her hair loose from its ponytail and her hair spread out from her head like a multitude of tentacles thin as filaments like a sea creature jerking about wildly and then for a second she felt numb and blue and liquid herself and resigned to the fact that the water would overcome her and in that second she began sliding away from the present and she stopped thrashing about and relaxed and felt life a bird caught in a draft of air rather than a girl pushed and pulled by the ocean and gave up.
(Ptolemy’s Gate; pg 490-491)
It was very dark. Somewhere, at an unknown distance, a great fire was burning, orange red. Outlined against it was a complex mess of metal, twisting, bending, fragile as a net of wire. As she watched, it crumpled in upon itself, growing dense and darkly packed. With the faintest of sighs, it subsided into the flames, which rose up to meet it, licked against the sky and gradually fell back.
Kitty lay there, watching. By and by tiny flecks of glass came tumbling silently out of the night. Within minutes the earth was glittering like frost.
(Ptolemy’s Gate; pg 499)
According to some (Generally those who don’t have to do it. Politicians and writers spring to mind.), heroic deaths are admirable things. I’ve never been convinced by this argument, mainly because, no matter how cool, stylish, composed, unflappable, manly or defiant you are, at the end of the day you’re also dead. Which is a little too permanent for my liking. I’ve made a long and successful career out of running away at the decisive moment, and it was with some considerable regret, as Nouda bore down upon us, in that soaring tomb of iron and glass, that I realize I didn’t actually have this fallback option.
She had only meant to wait it out, wait unnoticed until he had passed, taking baby steps, wanting to disappear, but then she actually did disappear, dropping into the water that was everywhere—no sides no top no bottom—and taken so by surprise that it didn’t matter that she was close to shore or that she was a good swimmer because she panicked and in her panic she swallowed water and scratched her cheek and somehow clawed her hair loose from its ponytail and her hair spread out from her head like a multitude of tentacles thin as filaments like a sea creature jerking about wildly and then for a second she felt numb and blue and liquid herself and resigned to the fact that the water would overcome her and in that second she began sliding away from the present and she stopped thrashing about and relaxed and felt life a bird caught in a draft of air rather than a girl pushed and pulled by the ocean and gave up.
(Ptolemy’s Gate; pg 490-491)
It was very dark. Somewhere, at an unknown distance, a great fire was burning, orange red. Outlined against it was a complex mess of metal, twisting, bending, fragile as a net of wire. As she watched, it crumpled in upon itself, growing dense and darkly packed. With the faintest of sighs, it subsided into the flames, which rose up to meet it, licked against the sky and gradually fell back.
Kitty lay there, watching. By and by tiny flecks of glass came tumbling silently out of the night. Within minutes the earth was glittering like frost.
(Ptolemy’s Gate; pg 499)
According to some (Generally those who don’t have to do it. Politicians and writers spring to mind.), heroic deaths are admirable things. I’ve never been convinced by this argument, mainly because, no matter how cool, stylish, composed, unflappable, manly or defiant you are, at the end of the day you’re also dead. Which is a little too permanent for my liking. I’ve made a long and successful career out of running away at the decisive moment, and it was with some considerable regret, as Nouda bore down upon us, in that soaring tomb of iron and glass, that I realize I didn’t actually have this fallback option.
