Shatter Me

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Shit!” He practically flings the tray through the opening, pausing only to slap his palm against his shirt. “Shit, shit. ” He curls his fingers into a tight fist and clenches his jaw. He’s burned his hand. I would’ve warned him if he would’ve listened. Good to see you’re all right, sir.” His voice is a nervous, shaky thing. “Good to see you’re all right.” Despite having a degree in English and Literature, I am usually pretty easygoing about typos and grammar, especially when it comes to self-published stuff.

urn:lcp:shatterme0000mafi:epub:90a143fb-5a8e-428b-9cc1-f5d960462fa3 Foldoutcount 0 Identifier shatterme0000mafi Identifier-ark ark:/13960/s2dbkrghw40 Invoice 1652 Isbn 9780062085481 He still spends the majority of his time in my presence cowering in fear, but somehow he has no interest in overthrowing my position. I can feel it, though I don’t understand it. He’s likely the only person in this building who’s pleased that I’m not dead. But I’m in here for something I never meant to do and no one seems to care that it was an accident. In conclusion, “Shatter Me” by Tahereh Mafi is a literary gem that deserves the highest praise. Its complex characters, gripping plot, and exceptional writing make it a standout in the world of young adult literature. This article has aimed to provide you with a comprehensive analysis that goes beyond the surface, offering you a deeper understanding of the book’s nuances. Shatter Me Book short Story The sun drops into the ocean and splashes browns and reds and yellows and oranges into the world outside my window. A million leaves from a hundred different branches dip in the wind, fluttering with the false promise of flight. The gust catches their withered wings only to force them downward, forgotten, left to be trampled by the soldiers stationed just below.

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I’m tired and weak from hunger, but other than a few general aches, I seem to be fine. I’m alive. I’m breathing and blinking and feeling human and I know exactly why.

No One Knows Why Juliette Has Such Incredible Power. It Feels Like A Curse, A Burden That One Person Alone Could Never Bear. But The Reestablishment Sees It As A Gift, Sees Her As An Opportunity. An Opportunity For A Deadly Weapon. Good morning,” I assume. I’m unsure of my voice, of the hour and this day, of these words leaving my lips and this body that contains me. One Touch Is All It Takes. One Touch, And Juliette Ferrars Can Leave A Fully Grown Man Gasping For Air. One Touch, And She Can Kill.I can’t remember the warmth of any kind of embrace. My arms ache from the inescapable ice of isolation. My own mother couldn’t hold me in her arms. My father couldn’t warm my frozen hands. I live in a world of nothing. I’m supposed to harness my Energy, Castle said. Our gifts are different forms of Energy. Matter is never created or destroyed, he said to me, and as our world changed, so did the Energy within it. Our abilities are taken from the universe, from other matter, from other Energies. We are not anomalies. We are inevitabilities of the perverse manipulations of our Earth. Our Energy came from somewhere, he said. And somewhere is in the chaos all around us. When I am holding a professionally published, FINISHED copy of a mass produced book and it contains strikeouts, sentences starting in lowercase letters, and numbers one through ten incorrectly placed in number form, e.g., "Juliette has 2 hands and 0 1 brain," my inner grammar maven's granny panties get twisted so far up her ass, it's impossible to focus.

I’m sorry I’m such an asshole, he whispers to the wall. He doesn’t touch me and I’m disappointed happy he doesn’t. I wish he would. He shouldn’t. No one should ever touch me. However, there was one thing that for me was even more annoying than the descriptions, the similes, the strikes, and that was the stupid repetition thing: "and then and then and then..." Again, if it had been used once, or sparingly even, then it wouldn't be so bad. I may have thought it was an interesting literary technique. But Shatter Me had way way way too much of everything (see what I did there?). I focus on the window between me and my freedom. I want to smash this concrete world into oblivion. I want to be bigger, better, stronger. Shit!He practically flings the tray through the opening, pausing only to slap his palm against his shirt. "Shit, shit." He curls his fingers into a tight fist and clenches his jaw. He’s burned his hand. I would’ve warned him if he would’ve listened.A Touch From Her Can Kill – One Touch Is All It Takes. But Not Only Is She A Threat, She Is Potentially The Most Powerful Weapon They Could Have. Juliette Has Never Fought For Herself Before But When She’s Reunited With The One Person Who Ever Cared About Her, The Depth Of The Emotion And The Power Within Her Become Explosive … The room is heavy with the scent of wet stone, upturned soil; the air is dank and earthy. I take a deep breath and tiptoe to the window only to press my nose against the cool surface. Feel my breath fog up the glass. Close my eyes to the sound of a soft pitter-patter rushing through the wind. Raindrops are my only reminder that clouds have a heartbeat. That I have one, too. I’ve been shot, Delalieu,” I manage to say. I open my eyes. Look into his watery ones. “I haven’t gone deaf.” I hear his irritated exhalation of breath. I hear him turn over on the bed that used to be half mine. I stay awake all night. My knees curled up to my chin, my arms wrapped tight around my small frame, my long brown hair the only curtain between us. Stop touching me with your eyes and keep your hands to your sides and please and please and please—

I’ve decided not to be afraid of him. I’ve decided his actions are more immature than genuinely threatening. He looks so familiar so familiar so familiar to me. I once knew a boy with the same blue eyes and my memories won’t let me hate him.

weeks have collapsed at the side of the road, abandoned, already forgotten. 2 weeks I’ve been here and in 2 weeks I’ve taken up residence on a bed of eggshells, wondering when something is going to break, when I’ll be the first to break it, wondering when everything is going to fall apart. In 2 weeks I should’ve been happier, healthier, sleeping better, more soundly in this safe space. Instead I worry about what will happen when if I can’t get this right, if I don’t figure out how to train properly, if I hurt someone on purpose by accident. This better happen. I am not joking. I am tired of great books (cough, cough: The Song of the Lioness Quartet and The Dust Lands Trilogy: Blood Red Road; Rebel Heart; Raging Star) not becoming movies or TV shows after they are optioned. Dear book gods (and I know you exist because you inspired Tahereh to write this series), make this real. Yes, I know TV/movies don't always make great adaptations and the books are 99.9% of the time better, but please do it anyway. Because I need this. You should wait at least three minutes before touching the tray, I tell the wall. I don’t look at the scars gracing my small hands, at the burn marks no one could’ve taught me to avoid. I think they do it on purpose, I add quietly. Oh, and for those of you who have already read the series: TeamWarner. TeamWarner. TeamOhMyGawdILoveHimWarner!!! You should wait at least three minutes before touching the tray,” I tell the wall. I don’t look at the faint scars gracing my small hands, at the burn marks no one could’ve taught me to avoid. “I think they do it on purpose,” I add quietly.