Erica Spindler’s Red
Becky Lynn is from the white trash tracks of Bend, Mississippi & Jack resides in the high life of- the glamor of Hollywood. Through a series of by-chance events their two paths cross — and change both of them forever; body and mind.
…so powerful with emotions of heartache, helplessness, bitter cold rage, and an outstanding sense to want to reach out and wash away all the hurt and unclean regret. This book brought forth emotions that only well-written fiction can, but exuded an amazingly fierce plot.
* ‘She was Red. Undeniable, unbeatable.’ *
Excerpts:
Pg. 21- ‘No sense reaching for a star, you’re never going to catch one. …even if you did manage to, you’d only burn your fingers.’
Pg. 47- ‘She’d wanted to die, and they’d just been having a little fun.’
Pg. 109- ‘She smelled like flowers and felt like heaven. …his heart thundering in his chest, the pulse in his head.’
Pg. 213- ‘He was seducing her, making lover to her, without even touching her.’
Pg. 353- ‘The woman in the photos was beautiful.’
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It was raining. He walked alone. The hood of his sweatshirt no longer flapped in the wind, instead it clinged stubbornly to his back. His hair hung over his eyes and kept him conscious with the simultaneous drip that ran from his scalp, down the strands of hair, and into his right eye. He was shivering uncontrollably. That didn’t matter. His heart was shattered.
As the train trudged along and hummed, he thought back to when things were more than all right. He found her! She was girl of his dreams. She had effortless beauty. The kind where she woke up in the morning, tucked her hair behind her left ear, pulled on a tee and jeans and out the door she went. No need for stuffy perfumes, she smelled naturally like a fresh spring morning.
He had been watching her at work. She worked at the local coffee shop. It looked to be a draining job, but she delighted in every moment. How was it she saw such purpose in making and hand delivering coffee to half driven persons day-to-day? He didn’t care much for the bitter taste of coffee or the stale feeling it left on his tongue, that was until that Wednesday morning when she brought him a cup.
Their eyes met and he knew. It was in the way she gently gave the coffee cup over to him, the way her mouth curved, and how she spoke. Wow! She had the voice of an angel!
And that’s how it happened! That’s how they met. He won her over and they were in the deepest of love, a love that he had never felt before.
She was new in town, so every date they went on he was her lover and her tour guide. He had fun with their dates. He showed her the hottest places to eat, the best poetry corner, where not to mingle, and the best hiking trails. They were lost in each other. Then the day came. She wanted him to meet her parents.
Together they saved up to get a bus ticket to travel north. She reassured him that the few days would all be okay. She went on and on about growing up and he could tell that she was Daddy’s little girl through and through. He distanced himself from her chatter and began to wonder and hope that her father would approve of him. After all, he was a “nobody” to everyone except to her.
They arrived and he found it difficult to regain balance. It was partly because they sat in their seats for the five hour trip, but mostly because he was out of his mind with worry and uncertainty.
There they were in her parents’ living room. It was nothing he had ever seen before. She lived like this? She grew up like this? He had never felt carpet so plush or seen a house without one spec of dusk. He met her father and knew right away he didn’t approve. He tried to play it off, but was as transparent as a ghost!
A yelling match broke out just as he stepped out of his daydreaming of how to sway her father. All he could see was the steady glare from her disapproving father. Her father repeated how he wanted better for her, how he couldn’t approve of such a low life kid. He demanded she move on.
Tears streamed down her cheeks but she never went against her father. She hung her head low in shame. Never once did she try to waver his thinking. He couldn’t take the hurt. Didn’t she love me? Her father showed him the door. Still she gazed down.
He had fallen in love with her and her way but all this was too good to be true and it all ended as suddenly as it had begun.
Walking alone in the cold rain. Screaming inside about how stupid he was. Dying inside as he thought of all he could’ve been. Now, he was alone and trying to mend his shattered heart…
<inspired by S.P.>…woof…
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Tell me what I’ll never be
Make me feel broken
Tell me what I should believe
I didn’t know it was broken
And I’m gunnin’ for you
I’m gunnin’ for you
And I will wait, I’ll write another letter to myself
And I will find out that morning comes faster alone
I hate the way you look at me
As if I was broken
And the perfection of my frailty
Has been questioned and broken
…
The perfection of my frailty has been questioned and broken
~ Hedley, Gunnin’ (self-titled: Hedley)
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Jeff Strand’s Pressure
I just finished reading a gruesome and horribly disturbing book…and I loved it! (Pressure) I’ve never read any of Jeff Strand’s work as of yet, but now I won’t stop until I’ve devoured all his books! With one book I’m hook, line and sinker for Strand’s work.Some passages that made me say “wow, that’s an exquisite way of wording!”
Excerpts:
Pg. 199
“I screamed after him, begged him, threatened him. The I screamed at myself. At my parents. At my teachers. At God.”
Pg. 219
“How many kids had been afraid to go to sleep last night because of my video? How many of them worried that the crazy man with the straight razor might be hiding in their closet? How many nightmares were I creating just to end my own?”
…and that’s only an appetizer of the main course!
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