My grandmother passed away Monday night. I wasn’t close to her; I don’t think she was someone anyone could be.
Still, watching the undertakers carry the coffin to the hearse, take her one last time out the door of that old house she loved so much, I wish.
Sometimes you think that they’re going to live forever, you know?
I don’t get why the Twilight vampires break like porcelain figurines. Literal interpretation of “like a marble statue sculpted by Michelangelo”??
Okay, alright; fiction of fiction. If Smeyer wants her vampires made of cheese, then by golly they will be made of cheese.
(*Jacob gives Bella a bracelet with a werewolf charm*
Jacob: I made this myself.
Me: HOW?
Marina: With his teeth.)
Also, I might have bought David Archuleta’s memoir and I might have finished it yesterday. Now, I might be feeling like a horrible person in comparison D:
In the church below, Mass was beginning with the sound of a pipe organ. The melodious chords of a hymn drifted up into the bell tower. The music annoyed him. “But not so frail and weak as to prevent him from slaying Hadriel and gravely wounding you?”
Cassiel squirmed, struggling to sit up. “The… the space was cramped and there was blinding smoke. Please…”
The music from the church below came to an end and the murmuring of prayer began.
Thomas E. Sniegoski, “The Fallen”
The shortest hymn ever written. Or the slowest conversation ever had.
I’m reading that book about a half-human-angel boy named Aaron and the story goes like this: a group of angels who were supposed to be guiding protectors to humans on earth started guiding entirely something else into them (oh hey, I just had an Eternal flashback) and became the Fallen.
Somewhere, a poverty-stricken old man with cataracts who lives in a dirty hut (prerequisites for a true prophet) produces a prophecy about an angel-human offspring bridging the gap between god and the disgraced angels.
Another group of angels come flying in to destroy everyone who had sex and everyone who got born because of that sex (angels don’t eat or drink but their penises work), and opposing factions start calling each other names and chopping off body parts with flaming swords. Aaron then turns 18 and sprouts black wings and tribal tattoos, and he - okay, whatever, you’ve totally read this in some other shape or form. POINT WAS.
All the angels, good or evil or anything in between, disgustedly (and repeatedly) refer to humans as “primitive apes”. Humans, created by God’s own hands, in His likeness. I THINK EVERYONE IN THAT UNIVERSE IS OVERLOOKING THE GREATEST INSULT TO GOD HERE.
200 pages to go.
(I’M SO SORRY I KEEP TALKING ABOUT BOOKS BUT IT’S ALL I’VE BEEN DOING. That’s going to stop though; I’m writing my resume tomorrow YES I AM WATCH ME TYPE LIKE A GUN.)
