Wilburn Fusner

“This is how the girl who couldn't speak and the man who couldn't see fell in love.”
― Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

“I walked past Malison, up Lower Main to Main and across the road. I didn’t need to look to know he was behind me. I entered Royal Wood, went a short way along a path and waited. It was cool and dim beneath the trees. When Malison entered the Wood, I continued eastward. 
I wanted to place his body in hallowed ground. He was born a Mearan. The least I could do was send him to Loric. The distance between us closed until he was on my heels. He chose to come, I told myself, as if that lessened the crime I planned. He chose what I have to offer.
We were almost to the cemetery before he asked where we were going. I answered with another question. “Do you like living in the High Lord’s kitchens?”
He, of course, replied, “No.”
“Well, we’re going to a better place.”
When we reached the edge of the Wood, I pushed aside a branch to see the Temple of Loric and Calec’s cottage. No smoke was coming from the chimney, and I assumed the old man was yet abed. His pony was grazing in the field of graves. The sun hid behind a bank of clouds.
Malison moved beside me. “It’s a graveyard.”
“Are you afraid of ghosts?” I asked.
“My father’s a ghost,” he whispered.
I asked if he wanted to learn how to throw a knife. He said, “Yes,” as I knew he would.  He untucked his shirt, withdrew the knife he had stolen and gave it to me. It was a thick-bladed, single-edged knife, better suited for dicing celery than slitting a young throat. But it would serve my purpose. That I also knew. I’d spent all night projecting how the morning would unfold and, except for indulging in the tea, it had happened as I had imagined. 
Damut kissed her son farewell. Malison followed me of his own free will. Without fear, he placed the instrument of his death into my hand. We were at the appointed place, at the appointed time. The stolen knife was warm from the heat of his body. I had only to use it. Yet I hesitated, and again prayed for Sythene to show me a different path.
“Aren’t you going to show me?” Malison prompted, as if to echo my prayer.”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“Creo que si alguna vez tengo hijos y están disgustados, no les diré que la gente se muere de hambre en China ni nada parecido porque no cambiaría el hecho de que estén disgustados. E incluso si otra persona lo tiene mucho peor, eso realmente no cambia el hecho de que tú tienes lo que tienes. Bueno y malo. Como lo que mi hermana dijo cuando yo llevaba ya una temporada en el hospital. Dijo que estaba muy preocupada por ir a la universidad, y en comparación con lo que yo estaba pasando, se sentía muy tonta. Pero no sé por qué se iba a sentir tonta. Yo también estaría preocupado. Y en serio, no creo que yo lo tenga mejor ni peor que ella. No sé. Es diferente. Quizá sea bueno poner las cosas en perspectiva, pero, a veces, creo que la única perspectiva es estar allí de verdad. Como dijo Sam. Porque está bien sentir cosas. Y ser tú mismo al respecto.”
― Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

“Her unexpected outburst rocked Flaminius to his core. Suddenly, she didn't seem so angelic. Her face twisted with rage; veins in her neck throbbed with fury in a scene all too familiar. Her reaction switched him off to her instantly as all his worst fears came to life.”
― Therisa Peimer, Taming Flame