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SNIPPET:

I could feel their fear, the little girl, the teenager, the old man. It shimmered in the air around them, almost vibrating. Making my flesh tingle – well, where there was flesh. Between life and undeath, I had been through a lot.

I hate dogs.

Looking at the little girl with her pulse throbbing in her throat, her rosy complexion, moist eyes, her blond hair that made my fingers clench, I wanted to feel her rip as I tore it from her scalp. The old man and the boy, they were good and all, but the little girl made my chest tighten with anticipation, with hunger, with an insatiable hunger, a hunger I’d never had in life. Since I had woken up a couple of weeks ago, lying in my unearthed coffin, the lid torn off and my eyes opening to a clear night lit with stars, I had been so hungry. Always so hungry. No matter how many of my colleagues, my work mates that I ripped apart with my teeth, scared accountants and terrified file clerks who could have sworn I had died a week ago.

My tongue lolled in my mouth, words coming out as mumbles and groans as I enjoyed the satisfying crack of their fingers. I broke them before biting, devouring them like chicken wings.

SNIPPET:

I stood by the school gate at Cromwell Prep, feeling weird in the maroon and white uniform. Over the past two years at Malcolm MacGregor Middle I’d gotten used to blue, white and yellow. It’s not like I had a whole lot of school pride or would go and watch any of the team sports I wasn’t forced to, but blue, white and yellow sort of…I dunno, it became part of my identity. So even though all the other kids were wearing the same colors, I felt completely conspicuous in maroon and white. Especially with my stiff, scratchy jumper, pristine blazer and school dress practically down to my ankles. Mom said I’d grow into it, but really – what am I supposed to do in the meantime? When exactly does your body stop growing, anyway? I hope I have that growth spurt everyone talks about soon or else my school dress will be down to my ankles until I graduate. I saw Stefan Gregorio at the park last week and he sure seems to have made the most of the summer because he grew at least a foot. He’s kind of funny looking now though because his arms and legs are too long for his body. I hope that doesn’t happen to me. But I do hope I start growing soon.

BLURB:

100 Unfortunate Days is the diary of a madwoman. She is a mother, wife, and functioning member of society. Her darkest and most dreadful thoughts are written in this memoir and they make us wonder if the mad walk among us--or may BE us

SNIPPET:

Day 17

A man with silver –blue eyes asked me if I needed a ride back to my car while I was getting coffee in town. He was thin and tall and beautiful. He smelled like ice. He was drinking water and he told me that he never eats. I did need a ride.

SNIPPET:

The answering machine cut off, Gary Bryant was sitting with his head in his hands, his stomach was churning and he was trembling. He was something of a self assured character and was not easily intimidated, but this message was one of many that he had received over the previous three months, His ex girlfriend of a year and six months was getting more threatening in her tone, Gary had seen the warning signs months before the break up but hoped it might die down, that it was just a phase, it wasn’t to be, it would only worsen, for one of the very few times in his life he was afraid, all he had wanted was a clean break from a relationship that was spiralling into a dysfunctional, living hell, but Sandra Gleeson, his ex partner would not accept that the relationship was over. Her job as a company accounts manager involved her dealing with some high profile clients, it was a position of responsibility that required government background checks and vetting, they weren’t to know however, that Gleeson was harbouring a serious flaw in her mental equilibrium, she was suffering from a personality disorder that had decimated several personal relationships

SNIPPET:

The pickle. Listen. Dad, who is not so, so bad as dads go, actually likes pickles. He was home making late lunch, or maybe early dinner, and Corie was Corie-ing around, not doing anything really, but kind of doing it wrong anyway. Dad was making lunch/dinner, and Corie said for the ten-thousandth time, “What’s to eat?” Dad finally said, “Pickle sandwiches,” even though Corie hates (or as Mom says, “dislikes immensely”) pickles.
 
The pickle in question:
* was green—and not a nice shade of green like the green stuff that came out the time Corie threw up all over the bedroom after the birthday party thingy happened;
* was wrinkled (aren’t they all?);
* smelled;
* was some new kind that was even bigger than the old kind;
* came from a jar;
* was cold;
* and wouldn’t be eaten by the dog who ate ASOLUTELY ANYTHING (Corie knew this because she had tried feeding the dog ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING).
 
I’m not going to tell you the name of Corie’s dog. She thinks if you know the name of her dog and what a great pull-you-in-the-sled, chase-you-through-the-house-and-the-muddy-stream, and eat-the-vegetables-you-pass-her-under-the-table-except-for-pickles dog she is, you’ll come to the Northeast and steal her. That’s why I can’t tell you the name of Corie’s dog and have to just call her “Corie’s dog,” because you might steal her.
 
Corie’s brothers’ names are Robert and James.