Busted lips and bruised arms.
Cry harlot! and let slip the blogs of war.
I was a young female who wrote magical realism, and he was expecting pink powdery puffs of sentences, of lightness, of beauty.
Seattle Pacific University was a small Christian college nobody had heard about that became famous for all of the wrong reasons.
“When we make decisions, we always get reactions,” he said.
Just the other night, a woman was attacked, and no one seems to care.
On the day I held a power drill up to my arm I became scared of my own free will. I stood there paused, meditative, alone, wondering about the people who fantasize of killing themselves so much that they actually just apply pressure to the trigger. I became so scared.
The story that sticks out in my mind was one about an HIV positive prisoner who put his blood on arrows that were shot at the guards. The bow and arrows were made out of newspapers that were petrified with toilet water.
Good sex is supposed to be something tender and loving—but not according to these people. For them, it involves hate, resentment, insults, and often extreme mutual physical abuse. (Found on AskReddit.) 1.
And there I was, looking straight ahead. No way was I planning on making eye contact. Then they have to kill you. If you see a face, they won’t let you live. Right?