Little Rd Book原版图书.pdfVIP

Writing Raw The Next Step in the Evolution of Reading Literature The Little Red Book By Barnali Saha It looked the same except for the binding that had faded a little along the edges and the bright red color that seemed slightly distressed. erhaps it too was facing an emotional catharsis like its owner, Amanda Tailor, who had been staring at the little red book for more than fifteen minutes now and was almost fully drenched in a shower of holy tears. This was a usual daily exercise that Amanda had been religiously following thrice a week, sometimes four times a week, at night, when her insomniac, tormented soul would haunt her for answers to questions she had no idea about. How could she know the mysteries of life and death? How could she know why her only son, Adam, died before he had lived his life? She wasn’t a psychic or some paranormal TV show host; she was a mere human being, a thirty nine years old, middle aged lawyer living an imperfect life in the windy city of Chicago. The chilly winds of December were crashing through the open window. Amanda was too lost to even feel the spine-melting nippy air. She was now kneeling before Adams picture that was hanging in one of the bare walls of his room, holding the book to her chest. She was a marionette, a woman of wood with no emotion on her face. All she had was tears, a never ending stream of tears that have been flooding her senses and life since the last four years. The picture on the wall was a little hazy and