Dude. Post-apocalyptic world. Who does job applications anymore?” “I do.” I squint at it, then him. “What are you paying me?” I angle. “Dude. Post-apocalyptic world. Who does money anymore.” I snicker. First sign of any sense of humor he’s shown. Then I remember where I am and why. I wad it up and throw it at him. It bounces off his chest.
Karen Marie MoningLife's not linear at all. It happens in lighting flashes. So fast you don't see those lay-you-out cold moments coming at you until you're Wile E. Coyote, steamrolled flat as a pancake by the Road Runner, victim of your own elaborate schemes.
Karen Marie MoningI kept it to remind me that although there is evil, there is sometimes beauty and light. You, Jillian. You were always my light.
Karen Marie MoningLife is too hard, too much to handle. Nobody told me there’d be days like these. How could nobody tell me there’d be days like these? How could they let me grow up like that—happy and pink and stupid?
Karen Marie Moning