By Francesca Lia Block
In the event you have been a child I sat very nonetheless to carry you. i'll see the veins via your pores and skin like a map to inside of you. i finished respiring so that you would not ... You have been only a boy on a mattress in a room, like a kaleidoscope is a tube jam-packed with bits of damaged glass. however the manner I observed you was once items refracting the sunshine, moving into an enormous universe of flora and rainbows and bugs and planets, magical dividing cells, photos nobody else knew ... your entire lifestyles you will be advised whatever is incorrect and so that you think it.
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Extra info for Wasteland
There were lots of other girls. Once she was standing by her locker and her puka shells broke and scattered and she made a joke about it but he could tell she was upset. He wanted to buy her some more. He wanted to give her a million strands of little nesting polished shells, and tropical flowers and ice creams and lemonades and a pale blue surfboard to teach her to surf on and anything else she wanted. Instead he let his checkered Vans step on one of the rolling shells and crush it. So now, who was he, just some guy who she hardly knew.
His body crouched ready to fly. He shone against the sun. Marina was watching from the sand. She had on a bikini with purple Hawaiian-looking flowers with long yellow stamens. She was eating an ice cream sandwich. She was always eating in those days, West remembered. Her mouth wrapping itself around sweet and creamy or hot and crunchy. She licked her lips and offered him some. He said he was cool. He stood there, trying not to get sand on her towel. She was burning on her shoulders. He wanted to offer to put lotion on her but he didn’t.
Rap rap rap. Something was troubling her? I thought, Here it comes. I thought, “Fear death by water. Those are pearls that were his eyes. ” She said, There’s someone who loves you too much. Too much. She shook her head and squinted through me. I was caving in, my guts collapsing; part of me felt so relieved. She said, You aren’t who you think you are. She said, I can tell you more. It’ll be fifty dollars. Do you have it? I can help you, tell you more. Fifty dollars. I got on my bike and rode as fast as I could.
Wasteland by Francesca Lia Block