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“God wanted us to do something, and we went the bad way. Then he said "No!, I am not going to lose what I want done!, So I'm gonna save this people and restore their dreams back to them"!”
― Israelmore Ayivor

“Yes I know: the thread you have to keep finding, over again, to follow it back to life; I know. Impossible, sometimes.”
― Jean Valentine, Door in the Mountain: New and Collected Poems, 1965-2003

“Indeed, I would not achieve the integration I sought until I found two nutrients essential to so many survivors. First, I found community and then I found a way to contribute.”
― Sue Klebold, A Mother's Reckoning: Living in the Aftermath of Tragedy

“Stay, I begged. Stay.

Light glowed beyond my shut eyelids.

Stay.

And in that silence... I began to tell him.

About that first night I'd seen him. When I'd heard that voice beckoning me to the hills. When I couldn't resist its summons, and now... now I wondered if I had heard him calling for me on Calanmai. If it had been his voice that brought me there that night.

I told him how I had fallen in love with him- every glance and passed note and croak of laughter he coaxed from me. I told him of everything we'd done, and what it had meant to me, and all that I still wanted to do. All the life still left before us.

And in return... a thud sounded.

I opened my eyes. Another thud.

And this his chest rose, lifting my head with it.

I couldn't move, couldn't breathe-

A hand brushed my back.

Then Rhys groaned. 'If we're all here, either things went very, very wrong or very right.'

Cassian's broken laugh cracked out of him.

I couldn't lift my head, couldn't do anything but hold him, savouring every heartbeat and breath and the rumble of his voice as Rhys rasped, 'You lot will be pleased to know... My power remains my own. No thieving here.'

'You do know how to make an entrance,' Helion drawled. 'Or should I say exit?'

'You're horrible,' Viviane snapped. 'That's not even remotely funny-'

I didn't hear what else they said. Rhys sat up, lifting me off him. He brushed away the hair clinging to my damp cheeks.

'Stay with the High Lord,' he murmured.

I hadn't believed it- until I looked into that face. Those star-flecked eyes.

Hadn't let myself believe it wasn't anything but some delusion-

'It's real,' he said, kissing my brow.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Wings and Ruin

“She isn't sure how long they sit like that, the two of them side by side, lost in their own thoughts, but it's a soft scratching sound that brings her attention back to the clearing. Opening her eyes, she looks across to where they had left the prone bird and is startled to see the hawk no longer lying beneath the leaf litter but standing upright, its head cocked, one beady orange eye peering at her with suspicion. "Look," she whispers, reaching for Jack's arm.
Jack follows her gaze. The bird studies them a moment then hops clumsily away through the leaves towards the base of a tree. Lillian holds her breath, watching as it half-extends one wing. It hops a few more paces but it looks off-balance, too damaged to fly; but it's as if it hears her thought and determines to prove her wrong for suddenly it stretches out both wings and, in one fluid movement, takes flight across the clearing to land in the lowest branch of a nearby tree. Lillian feels her heart beating in her chest, a heady mix of excitement and elation.
The sparrowhawk perches on the bough, its eye still fixed in their direction before it glides off the branch and sails low across the clearing in a showy swoop before soaring away through the trees and out of sight.
"Well how about that?" says Jack. "Lazarus rises.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“Everything was black, and warm- and thick. Inky, but bordered with gold. I was swimming, kicking for the surface, where Tamlin was waiting, where life was waiting. Up and up, frantic for air. The golden light grew, and the darkness became like sparkling wine, easier to swim through, the bubbles fizzing around me, and-

I gasped, air flooding my throat.

I was lying on the cold floor. No pain- no blood, no broken bones. I blinked. A chandelier dangled above me- I'd never noticed how intricate the crystals were, how the hushed gasp of the crowd echoed off them. A crowd- meaning I was still in the throne room, meaning I... I truly wasn't dead. Meaning I had... I had killed those... I had... The room spun.

I groaned as I braced my hands against the floor, readying myself to stand, but- the sight of my skin stopped me cold. It gleamed with a strange light, and my fingers seemed longer where I'd laid them flat on the marble. I pushed to my feet. I felt- felt strong, and fast and sleek. And-

And I'd become High Fae.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“Anything dead coming back to life hurts.”
― Toni Morison

“Lazarus Saturday: The Longest Way by Stewart Stafford

"Lazarus, come out!" Jesus said:
A dead man awoke in a burial place,
Wrapped head to foot on a stretcher;
He shook away the cloth on his face.

Four days dead, his soul was gone;
His sisters berated Jesus's late arrival;
The Lord did not doubt his power,
From the afterlife came his survival.

From a white light end to a dark revival,
Life cascaded in decomposing flesh,
His chest hurt as it rose and fell again,
Bloated and blotchy skin alive afresh.

Lazarus struggled to breathe in dusty air;
His body was freezing and deathly pale;
At first, he thought he had gone to God,
The voice of his friend told another tale.

Shuffling stiffly to the cave's womb exit,
Newborn-blind to his second life;
The Disciples rushed to unwrap him,
His sisters embraced away their strife.

Lazarus wanted to tell what he had seen,
But was told it was not for mortal ears;
His sisters had to respect this wish,
Overjoyed to live to Methuselah's years.

The word spread fast of this act;
Of the Nazarene's immense power;
That his reach could extend so far,
To the world far past Babel's Tower.

As the daughter of Jairus resurrected,
Christ himself arose on the third day;
Lazarus was in Death's grip tightest,
Miracles that blood money cannot repay.

© 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford