Lindsey Phillips

“Ordinarily, when the great oak doors groaned open and someone entered Prat Library there would be a burst of sunlight, a bright harsh intrusion on the dim and quiet. But when Oriana Jeffers came through the doors, the light transmuted into moonbeams and star-shimmer, and all the books on the shelves fluttered awake. Oh joy, they whispered, a READER.”
― Jon Cohen

“Would you like a drink?"
"No, thank you."
"So polite."
"One of us should be, don't you think?"
He turned to face her, half-amused and half-surprised by her smart mouth.
She was not tall, barely the height of his shoulder, but at the moment she looked like an Amazon.
The hood of her cloak had fallen away, and her hair was in disarray, tumbling around her shoulders, gleaming pale blond in the dim light. Her chin was thrust forward in a universal sign of defiance, her shoulders were stiff and straight, and her chest rose and fell with harsh anger, swelling beneath her cloak.
She looked as though she'd like to do him no small amount of bodily harm.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“Now, back to Sapporo-ya. The place is deep enough below street level that the windows let in no natural light; harsh fluorescent lamps made everyone look ill. The walls are greenish-yellow. If you are directing a modern adaptation of The Divine Comedy, shoot the purgatory scenes here.
The waitress set down my hiyashi chūka goma dare (sesame sauce). It was in every way the opposite of its surroundings: colorful, artfully presented, sweated over. The tangle of yellow noodles was served in a shallow blue-and-white bowl and topped with daikon, pickled ginger, roast pork, bamboo shoots, tomato, shredded nori, cucumber, bean sprouts, half a hard-boiled egg, and Japanese mustard. It was almost too pretty to ruin by tossing it together with chopsticks.”
― Matthew Amster-Burton, Pretty Good Number One: An American Family Eats Tokyo

“This is me, this is who I am. This is Sasha Stone, who would have graduated as valedictorian and gone to Oberlin, who would have been on a dark stage in a few years, wearing black, unable to see the audience because of stage lights but feeling them there, their eyes on her though an entire orchestra was onstage. Sasha Stone always garnered the attention. Sasha Stone stood out in a sea of stars. But somehow I am here, not on a darkened stage but in a badly lit room with flickering fluorescents that hum to match the mechanical hearts of my audience members. I am here, with a harsh line down the middle of my face to match the one on my chest, a line that—should I ever make any stage—could never be covered by makeup. The light would seek it out. Illuminate it. All imperfections glare in the spotlight.”
― Mindy McGinnis, This Darkness Mine