Читать книгу The Book of Rapture - Nikki Gemmell - Страница 7

So. They are in there. Your children. Close but you cannot reach them, talk to them. In a room they’ve never seen before. That they’ve just woken up in. And the three of them are like tiny wooden boats in a wind-tossed sea, swivelling, unanchored, lost. Now a key has come. Rattling hard on the other side of the door; the only way to escape. You haven’t a clue who’s on the other side. Neither do they. The rattling’s brisk, curt, adult. You feel like your heart is being compressed into your chest, a great weight is upon it, breathing is hard. Your middle child’s knuckles are pressed into his temples, you can read his screwed-up face — this could be good-strange but he doesn’t know — he’s too huge-hearted for this. Always glass half-full but the dark side of optimism is trusting too much. Not his brother or sister. They’re too aware for trust, they’re thinking the worst. Question everything, you’ve told them all, so many times, and that’s exactly what they’re both doing.

The fear plague has come, it has hit.

And all you can do is stand here helpless in the wings of these words with your greedy, voluptuous love haemorrhaging out.

Nothing evolves us like love.