This year my goal is certainly to read many book – more than 50 at least. However that is a post for another day. I wanted to take a look back at all the book that I have reviewed on the blog. Some I still love just as much but others I’ve come to doubt my own opinion and I’m not so wooed by then anymore. Time changes preference, so lets take a look.
I just finished my English degree and I read some fantastic literature, I thought I would share some of the novels I studied. Sometimes I both hated and loved looking for the deeper meanings behind these books and the messages they painted.
Consumed by an unadulterated fear, sickness coursed through her, knotting into her DNA. Terror gripped her so intensely her insides cocooned. Her body, a rupture of implicit silences like a violent storm crashing against the seafloor creating a chasm. The pink fist like organ in her chest, slaughtered and war-torn. Leaky eyes and choked lungs; bones becoming wood, the itchy air igniting flames from within. Black ice infecting the warm liquid that streamed through her veins, no thump thump thump left in her heart.
Gasping for air as she runs from the overpowering storm, rain drops pound against her skin. The water washes everything away, she’s consumed by a foreign, unrecognisable selfishness. Her lungs on fire aching for air, legs burning as the muscles clench she staggers.
Raindrops like leeches pulls at the memories from her mind.
They were like hawks watching their prey, their wrath emitting towards me in waves. The glass reflecting my defeated self with my acceptance of what would come. My shaky palms moist as I brushed them against my jumper.
“You can’t come Lucy!” screamed Rosie, slamming the wardrobe door behind her. Rage filled the ten year old as she reached for Dad’s hammer. CRACK! Adrenaline pulsed through her, shards of wood splintering everywhere.
She sat amongst the dismantled wardrobe, her siblings trapped in Narnia forever, grief suddenly taking over.
There were more consultations, more hushed whispers, more pain and less comfort; nowadays Mum’s eyes were even more raw.
You had been prodded with needles, bone marrow biopsies and transplant, chemotherapy and tests, tests, tests. There wasn’t an inch of your skin that hadn’t been pierced, bruised or scratched since you entered St. Mary’s. Even the smallest of falls would cause deep painful bruising so you weren’t even allowed to walk. You used a wheelchair and that made you angry.