I Do Love Ponies. Wish I Could

You’re Disgusting When You Eat,” Chuck Said, Sitting On The Bench Next To Him. “it’s Like Watching A Starving Pig Eat His Own Klunk.

I Think Judy Blume, Stephen King, And Dean Koontz Are The Three Authors Responsible For My Being Where I Am Today. I Owe Them A Lot.

Movement From Brenda Grabbed Thomas's Attention. He Looked To See Her Drop The Knife Away From Minho And Step Back, Absently Wiping The Small Trace Of Blood There On Her Pants. "i Really Would've Killed You, Ya Know," She Said In A Slightly Scratchy Voice. Almost Husky. "charge Jorge Again And I'll Sever An Artery." Minho Wiped At His Small Wound With His Thumb, Then Looked At The Bright Red Smear. "that's One Sharp Knife. Makes Me Like You More.

Sometimes They Do Things To Make Me Do The Opposite Of What They Think, I Think, They Think, I Am Going To Do.

Wonder Why We Can Do This,' He Called Out With His Mind. The Mental Effort Of Speaking To Her Was Already Straining—he Felt A Headache Forming Like A Bulge In His Brain. 'maybe We Were Lovers,' Teresa Said. Thomas Tripped And Crashed To The Ground. Smiling Sheepishly At Minho, Who’d Turned To Look Without Slowing, Thomas Got Back Up And Caught Up To Him. 'what?' He Finally Asked. He Sensed A Laugh From Her, A Watery Image Full Of Color.