"Good evening ma'am. Where t-"
"DRIVE!!!"
"Revenge? I prefer to call it:
returning a favor."
Syndonia is a young girl, blinded and tempted by revenge. She lives to fullfil the one thing her familys secrets left behind and learns she was born to die...
"a thick subsurface layer of soil that remains below freezing point throughout the year, occurring chiefly in polar regions."
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It is thought that permafrost thawing could exacerbate global warming by releasing methane and other hydrocarbons, which are powerful greenhouse gases. It also could encourage erosion because permafrost lends stability to barren Arctic slopes. When the ice in permafrost melts, the ground becomes unstable and can slump, causing rock and landslides, floods and coastal erosion. The ground has collapsed 280 feet deep in some parts of Siberia. The buckling earth can damage buildings, roads, power lines and other infrastructure.
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When I was younger, I never liked reading books. I hated them, and sometimes my parents forced me to read them. I understand why they would do that, but after countless pages I've read from a book, I would only see it as a waste of time to please my parents.
Every single book I've read at that point was boring to me. Sure, there were some books I enjoyed reading for the most part, like "My Little Prince" by Antoan De Cent Egziperié. I didn't like the book, I just liked the tought of reading it.
I never fully tried to understand them, or the story they would tell, I never fully commited into a story so deep, I'd forget where I was at the moment.
Until.
..there was this one book, I'd prefer not to say it's name, or the author, but I never, until the moment I read the first page of it, understood what it meant to enjoy a good book.
It was a psyhological thriller, I think it was about 70 chapters, if I still remeber it correctly.
I remeber reading it at night, because I was scared that my parents would found out I was reading that kind of stories. And when I'd wake up in the morning, I was so unbeliveble happy, because I would remeber that I read a few chapters last night. A feeling so precious, simple and yet unexplainable. The feeling still lingers, like a dream.
I have read that book three times, and every time I did, it was a full, another expirience. It is like the book was complitely changing infront of me. Ofcourse, I later realized it wasn't the book, it was me. I was changing, the words on a peace of paper were always the same. Still, even after that, I would give everything to read for the first time again.
Thats when i realized that poetry and books were a form of art. Beautiful, powerfull peaces of art, that could birth a soul, and shatter it at the same time.
I decided that I wanted to make someones heart beat faster, I wanted to leave someone on a cliffhanger, and I wanted to relife someone while they read the words I thought of and typed.
English isn't my naitive languige, so I am begging you to exept my deepest apologies for the bad grammar or the way I express my thoughts. I want to be able to fully explain my way of seeing this world, and brake the languige barrior that's standing like a mountain in my way.
