When I was a little kid, before I learned how to write, I would tell stories.
This is the way the world ends; not with a bang or a whimper, but with zombies breaking down the back door.
Right then, it didn't matter what his reasons were. All I knew that I was sick of him breaking my heart.
I look at you because I can't look away.
My mama didn't raise any fools and she didn't raise any heroes.
At that moment I didn't particularly care if a band of raging marauders tried to do her in,but if there were frequent attacks on her "castle," I thought I should know.