Raven
@Raveneanias
Kendi halinde kendince kitaplarına âşık bir okurum sadece
Edmond Jabes'in dediği gibi: Umut belki de gelecek sayfadadır. Kapatma kitabı.
In libris libertas
Our mercenary relief at having Richard gone was quickly turning sour. Already I’d found a thousand things to be afraid of. What if one of us let something slip? Talked in our sleep? Forgot how the story was supposed to go? Or perhaps we’d walk on tiptoes the rest of our lives, waiting for the thread to snap, the axe to fall.
Bu yaz yanınızdan ayırmak istemeyeceğiniz kitapları sizin için bir araya getirdik.
💬 Siz olsanız bu listeden hangisiyle başlardınız?
Colborne watched me with curious closeness. “I think that’s all for now,” he said, after what felt like too long a pause. “I’m going to give you my contact information. If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to tell me.”
“Of course,” I said. “I will.”
But, of course, I wouldn’t. Not until ten years later.
I could still see it. Richard suspended on the surface of life, bloodied, gasping—and the rest of us simply watching, waiting for the curtain to drop. Revenge tragedy, I wanted to say. Shakespeare himself couldn’t have done it better.
“I saw Richard,” I told him. Not a proper dead man, not really floating. “Just sort of hanging there. But broken and crushed, like everything was bent the wrong way.”
The question was so absurd and the way he said it so ludicrously casual that I had to clench my teeth against a psychotic impulse to laugh. My classmates shifted around me, turning inward, toward one another, away from the water. Their faces were smooth, impassive, the panic of a minute before forgotten. No reason to fuss now. No rush. I couldn’t help but wonder if my own expression was so staid, if perhaps I was a better actor than I’d always thought and none of them suspected that there was some sick, silent laughter trapped in my throat.
The moral outrage we should have suffered was quietly put down, suppressed like an unpleasant rumor before it had a chance to be heard. Whatever we did—or, more crucially, did not do—it seemed that so long as we did it together, our individual sins might be abated. There is no comfort like complicity.