11 Quotes by Emmie White

She clung to the memories of her youth as if they were the only way she could save a piece of her soul from whatever it was she was about to face.

Bridget’s tight fists began to shake as something from deep inside, born of utter anger and hatred, crept from the depths of her soul. She lunged at him, prepared to pound his handsome face to blood and bone, but the straps prevented her. Instead, she was quickly zapped with a heady pulse of electricity. As she howled in anguish, Doctor Spencer beamed with satanic amusement.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror, but instead of the handsome, successful, owner of a billion-dollar corporation, he saw the remnants of the unpopular, socially-awkward, Magic The Gathering-obsessed nerd he left behind all those years ago. That gorgeous and psychotic minx on the fifteenth floor cracked his mirror, and he saw his true reflection.

She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but she kept her convoluted and confused thoughts to herself. He was her light in the darkness, but she was unsure if it was actual love or a form of Stockholm syndrome.

He wanted to crumple her up and toss her from his mind like a scrap piece of paper filled with nonsensical doodles or dissonant words that formed unbalanced rhymes. Yet, he refused throw her away.

He was an artist, and she, an anarchist, the destroyer of his beautiful creations. His body tensed, pushing hot adrenaline through his body with irascible rage. His anger gave way to lamentation as his heart wailed for his lost inventions. His mind saw each one desperately screaming for help, their outcries echoing between the orange flames and ashy ruins of their compatriots.

She was a magnificent creature created in a science lab, the bride of Frankenstein. He, of course, comprehended that he was the monster. Freddy was Frankenstein, the creator.

Bridget did not budge, and her face was without expression. She sat, quietly defeated like a chess player who lost a career match in less than four moves.

A modern-day Thisbe, Bridget pressed her face and hands against the wall, possibly hoping that the blocks and paint between them would melt away.