Warm Bodies by Isaac Marion - NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER, NOW A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE “Gruesome yet (Book #1 of The Warm Bodies Series). Romeo and Juliet with zombies - a starry-eyed, sweetly comic story about the humanising power of love, even in the darkest of circumstances. Soft Copy of Book Warm Bodies author Isaac Marion completely free. Reviews of : Warm Bodies by Isaac Marion PDF Book Inside this Book – It is a zombie book.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library WARM BODIES Isaac Marion was born in north-western Washington in . The life remaining in those cells will keep them from full-dying, but the Dead. Warm Bodies by Isaac Marion - Free download as PDF File .pdf), Text File .txt) or Uploaded by Atria Books . I imagine that's what being full-dead is like. There are also many other books. Thanks Warm Bodies: A Novel NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER, NOW A MAJOR Where do I download full ebook PDF?.
Black slacks, gray shirt, red tie. I turn my face away. When she speaks again her voice is soft and faint, the voice of memories longing to be forgotten. She wraps around me, so much bigger and softer than I ever imagined from inside, and I strain my eyes open. Life was so new. Her aviators glint in the sun as she grins, showing her perfectly straight teeth.
Has there been a more sympathetic monster since Frankenstein's? Find your local bookstore at booksellers. Our Lists. Hi-Res Cover. Romeo and Juliet with zombies - a starry-eyed, sweetly comic story about the humanising power of love, even in the darkest of circumstances. Isaac Marion. Online retailers Or. Online retailers. Visit IsaacMarion. Whether you're warm-bodied or cold-bodied, snuggle up to it with the lights low and enjoy a dead-lightful combination of horror and romance.
Tell us what you like, so we can send you books you'll love. Sign up and get a free eBook! Book 1 of The Warm Bodies Series. Price may vary by retailer. I suspect she used to be a receptionist. Pinned to her chest is a silver nametag. She has a name. As always, they elude me, just a series of meaningless lines and blots. I point at the tag and look her in the eyes. I point at myself and pronounce the remaining fragment of my own name. Her eyes drop to the floor. She shakes her head. She is no one.
I reach out and take her hand. We walk off the conveyers with our arms stretched across the divider.
This female and I have fallen in love. I think I remember what love was like before. There were com- plex emotional and biological factors. We had elaborate tests to pass, connections to forge, ups and downs and tears and whirl- winds. It was an ordeal, an exercise in agony, but it was alive. The new love is simpler.
But small. We walk through the echoing corridors of the airport, occasionally passing someone staring out a window or at a wall. This is my great obstacle, the biggest of all the boulders littering my path. In my mind I am eloquent; I can climb intricate scaffolds of words to reach the highest cathedral ceilings and paint my thoughts. But when I open my mouth, it all collapses.
So far my personal record is four rolling syllables before some. And I may be the most loquacious zombie in this airport. Prepositions are painful, articles are ardu- ous, adjectives are wild overachievements. Is this muteness a real physical handicap? One of the many symptoms of being Dead? Or do we just have nothing left to say? I attempt conversation with my girlfriend, testing out a few awkward phrases and shallow questions, trying to get a reaction out of her, any twitch of wit.
We wander for a few hours, directionless, then she grips my hand and starts leading me somewhere. We stumble our way down the halted escalators and out onto the tarmac. I sigh wearily. She is taking me to church.
The Dead have built a sanctuary on the runway. At some point in the distant past, someone pushed all the stair trucks together into a circle, forming a kind of amphitheater. We gather here, we stand here, we lift our arms and moan. The ancient Boneys wave their skeletal limbs in the center circle, rasping out dry, wordless sermons through toothy grins. That vast cosmic mouth, distant mountains like teeth in the skull of God, yawning wide to devour us.
To swallow us down to where we probably belong. My girlfriend appears to be more devout than I am. She closes her eyes and waves her arms in a way that looks almost heartfelt. I stand next to her and hold my hands in the air stiffly. At some unknown cue, maybe drawn by her fervor, the Boneys stop their preaching and stare at us. One of them comes forward, climbs our stairs, and takes us both by the wrists.
It leads us down into the circle and raises our hands in its clawed grip. It lets out a kind of roar, an unearthly sound like a blast of air through a broken hunt- ing horn, shockingly loud, frightening birds out of trees. We are married. We step back onto the stair seats.
The service resumes.
My new wife closes her eyes and waves her arms. The day after our wedding, we have children. A small group of Boneys stops us in the hall and presents them to us.
A boy and a girl, both around six years old. The boy is curly blond, with gray skin and gray eyes, perhaps once Caucasian. The girl is darker, with black hair and ashy brown skin, deeply shadowed around her steely eyes.
She may have been Arab. The Boneys nudge them forward and they give us tentative smiles, hug our legs. I sigh, and my wife and I keep walking, hand in hand with our new children.
This is a big responsibility. They have to be tended and trained, and they will never grow up. Look at them. Watch them as my wife and I release their hands and they wander outside to play. They tease each other and grin. They giggle and laugh, though it sounds choked through their dry throats. They resist our curse for as long as they possibly can. I watch them disappear into the pale daylight at the end of the hall.
Deep inside me, in some dark and cobwebbed chamber, I feel something twitch. A captivating debut novel that is at once both terrifying and romantic about a zombie who is humanized by the power of love. Flag for inappropriate content. Related titles. I've Got Your Number: A Novel by Sophie Kinsella, Excerpt. Jump to Page. Search inside document.
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