Calinda B. > Quotes

“As far as my eye can see, there are fang-toothed vamps scanning the crowd for their next meal; women, hunched, casting narrow-eyed gazes about, while fiddling with what I assume to be spell casting herbs; and ancient beings who look like they should be wielding wizard staffs. Metas and Humans are everywhere, shipped from all parts of the galaxy. We’re like cattle being herded into chutes by gun-toting men—none of us wants to be here but the alternative is far less inviting.”
― Calinda B., Night Whispers

“After a sweat drenching twenty-minute trek, I’m shoved through the doors of the Complex, to be swallowed into its bowels along with about ten thousand others. The air in here is temperate like a pleasant summer on planet Wreston. A sappy, intended-to-sooth tune floats through the air, yet does nothing to calm my unease. Everything is glossy white and polished gray—white walls, dotted with metal, concrete floors. It smells antiseptic like it’s been scrubbed with toilet cleaner. Ahead, the terminal desks, each holding some sort of monitor, line the walls. They’re manned by men and women in gray uniform, typing on keyboards, and moving their fingers across the monitors, from what I can see through the throng.”
― Calinda B., Night Whispers

“The black-clad enforcer turns toward me. “Is this man trying to hurt you?” He stabs his thumb at Reve. I flinch and back away, my hand flying to my neck like I’m about to lose my head. “That’s my brother.” His energy is dark, jagged, and menacing. He’s got a too-handsome, sculpted appearance, accented with cruel overtones. A pencil-thin, immaculately groomed mustache lines his upper lip. A goatee juts from his chin, ending in a sharp point like the end of a devil’s tail. Both glisten with glints of red, as if wiped by greasy, blood-smeared fingers. His hair is the color of shadows. And his eyes…I can’t even look into those black orbs, for fear of falling into a pitch-dark hole.”
― Calinda B., Night Whispers

“The jetter space craft that catapulted me from my life, hurtling us thousands of space miles in less than a day, rumbles to a gasping stop in the middle of a barren landscape. All of us Humans seated on this bucket of government issued bolts and alloys let out a collective sigh. A disembodied wasp-like voice drones, “Welcome, new residents of the Complex. Please depart the vessel. Welcome, new residents of the Complex. Please depart the vessel.” As I step out of the jetter onto the parched landscape of Lorn, clutching my possessions in a worn satchel, my stomach cramps like a twice-starved six-ton Draco serpent”
― Calinda B., Night Whispers

“Ever since my mom died, I’ve been unable to keep the thoughts and feelings of others’ out of my mind. When I dream, it’s the worst. With everyone’s filters down, I see horrible thoughts and frantic longings. I sigh. I want to eject from my skin and soar into the sky like the jetter, where it’s safe. Only I’d probably be snagged by one of the angry-looking law enforcement, zipping through the sky on their high tech motorcycles called Flyers—something I read about in the recruitment propaganda.”
― Calinda B., Night Whispers

“Is that where we’re going to be housed?” I point at a giant, sleek, shiny dome in the distance. A stack of high-tech metal known as translucite, steel, and aluminum bubbles, sparkling in the harsh sun, stretches into the sky for miles. As each new resident enters, it looks like they’re being swallowed alive. “It’s better than where we were headed,” he says, his mouth tight. “You got caught. You should’ve let me do the stealing. I was good at it and you know it.” “I wanted to help. Your limp was getting worse.” My chin starts to tremble. “You mean my war-wound? The one inflicted by Meta bastards?” Cold rage burns in his hazel eyes. One eyebrow lifts on his handsome face. “And how did that work out, huh? You got caught,” he says again. “I tried to protect you and was charged with being your accomplice.” He spits the last word with a sneer.”
― Calinda B., Night Whispers

“I’ve been a grieving, fighting-to-survive emotional wreck for years. We lost everything—our home, our parents, our sense of a stable world, with no time to mourn. My studies and dreams of working with plant life and making the world a better place? Gone, blown to bits by warriors with metaphysical abilities, the mutant monsters known as Metas. It’s a wonder any Humans are left. What was known as the P-extinction war, a brutally long war between Humans and Metas lasting twelve horrid years, left us depleted with slim chances of survival.”
― Calinda B., Night Whispers

“What is it?” Reve asks, retrieving my belongings. His eyes dart everywhere. He loops the strap over his shoulder along with his knapsack. My bag looks like a child’s toy on his stocky, muscular frame. He positions himself protectively by my side. “I don’t know. There are too many energetic signatures to discern one from the other. But something is...” I tremble. “I don’t know. I sense a disturbance. A big one. It’s probably one of the Meta freaks. A witch. A necromancer. Who knows?” “Easy, sis. You’re probably on overload. Take deep breaths. I’ve got you. We’ll get through this.” I puff out my cheeks and blow out a huge, gusty sigh. He gently turns me around and places his hands over mine on either side of my face. He trains his warm hazel eyes on mine.”
― Calinda B., Night Whispers