The Other People: A Novel

I can always use my superpowers to protect us.”

“What are those?”

“Old age and slowness.”

“Impressive.”

The Sandman?”
The girl nodded.
“Who is he?”
“Death. Salvation. A man. The coming of the end.

“Dead” meant never coming back.

She hovered over sleep in the same way an owl might hover over the dark fields below, occasionally letting herself drift down, close to the whispering grass, but soaring up again before she could let herself settle.

“The difference is, the Other People grant those wishes.”
Like a fucking psychotic fairy godmother.

Hatred could fuel you through the worst of times. Grief, despair, terror.

And sometimes, it’s a trap

A gift is never just a gift. Sometimes, it’s an apology, sometimes an expression of love. Sometimes, it is leverage or a subtle display of emotional blackmail. Sometimes, it’s a way to assuage guilt. Sometimes, it’s a way to make yourself seem benevolent. Sometimes, it is a show of power or money.

A dream is never more fragile than when it’s about to come true.

as long as someone is still searching for you, you are never really lost.