Stephen Graham Jones

I’m all right,” I told her. This is a lie, when you’re twelve. And all the other years, too.

I’m all right,” I told her. This is a lie, when you’re twelve. And all the other years, too.

– Stephen Graham Jones –

Mapping the Interior

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Frances Hardinge

There were kind lies. You still look beautiful. I love you. I forgive you.There were frightened lies. Someone else must have taken it. Of course I am Anglican. I never saw that baby before.There were predatory lies. Buy this tonic if you want your child to recover. I will look after you. Your secret is safe with me.Half-lies, and the tense little silences where a truth should have been. Lies like knives, lies like poultices. The tiger’s stripe, and the fawn’s dusky dapple. And everywhere, everywhere, the lies that people told themselves. Dreams like cut flowers, with no nourishing root. Will-o’-the-wisp lights to make them feel less alone in the dark. Hollow resolutions and empty excuses.

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