I Want To Be A Writer. I

Who Was That?” I Whispered, As If The Walls Could Hear Me. They Were Lined With Pictures, A Few Of Which I Recognized As Being Painted By Master Painters. “rhys.” “yeah, I Know But… Is He My Brother?” I Asked. I Had Already Decided That He Was Foxy, So I Really Hoped That He Wasn‟t.

When You Mix Dirt With Water, The Dirt Doesn't Get Clean. The Water Just Gets Dirty.

I Decided To Go Along With It. If He Tried To Give Me The Runaround, I Would Bolt. I Didn't Have Time To Waste On Vague Answers And Evasive Language. Matt And Rhys Were Captive, And Rhys Couldn't Even Sit Down.

Self-publishing Is Great, But I Don't Want To Be An Icon For It, Or Anything Else.

Tomorrow You Will Belong To Someone Else," Finn Said. "but Tonight, You're With Me