Drowning in ellipses.

       He’s gripping something in his hand, examining it,         wracking his brain for it’s purpose or it’s context or        it’s place in anything. He knows it’s name: cell phone.        And he can feel in his bones that it definitely had a         place in the old world, in his old life. But what it does,        the context—-it’s all lost on him. A side effect of, well,        being dead. His tongue is slow as molasses, trying to         form the question that in his mind is so eloquent: What        is this thing? What does it do? How can I use it? But it         comes out pitiful, stunted. Zombies are not known for         their articulation.  "W—What…th—this?" 

Source

       He’s gripping something in his hand, examining it,         wracking his brain for it’s purpose or it’s context or        it’s place in anything. He knows it’s name: cell phone.        And he can feel in his bones that it definitely had a         place in the old world, in his old life. But what it does,        the context—-it’s all lost on him. A side effect of, well,        being dead. His tongue is slow as molasses, trying to         form the question that in his mind is so eloquent: What        is this thing? What does it do? How can I use it? But it         comes out pitiful, stunted. Zombies are not known for         their articulation.  "W—What…th—this?" 

“So much for dreaming. You can’t be whatever you want. All I’ll ever be is a slow, pale, hunched-over, dead-eyed zombie. What did I think was gonna happen?”

Warm Bodies, R

       He’s gripping something in his hand, examining it,         wracking his brain for it’s purpose or it’s context or        it’s place in anything. He knows it’s name: cell phone.        And he can feel in his bones that it definitely had a         place in the old world, in his old life. But what it does,        the context—-it’s all lost on him. A side effect of, well,        being dead. His tongue is slow as molasses, trying to         form the question that in his mind is so eloquent: What        is this thing? What does it do? How can I use it? But it         comes out pitiful, stunted. Zombies are not known for         their articulation.  "W—What…th—this?" 

Isaac Marion, Warm Bodies p. 6 (via booknation)

Catelyn Stark, A Clash of Kings by George R.R. Martin (via esotericallyarcane)

Why can’t I connect with people? Oh, right, it’s because I’m dead.