Writing is a bit like being a god

My gran always said I was half clever, half stupid, and half crazy.

If a wolf attacks his sheep, the shepard kills the wolf, but he eats the sheep when he's hungry.

There was always a slug on the lettuce. This was too good to be true. He had never trusted Jester, and didn't trust David. He wasn't going to let his gaurd down just yet. Being carful had kept him alive this far. There was no reason to stop being careful now.

Standing in the corridor was a large plastic bin on wheels. He looked inside. Empty tins of dog food. That explained the spaghetti with meat sauce. Oh well, he'd eaten worse.

There was a reason these boys were still alive, though. Something made them stronger than the other kids, the ones who had died in the early days, who had simply lain down and given up, unable to cope with the terrible things that were happening in the world. These boys were survivors. The will to live was stronger than any other feelings.

He knew one thing for sure, though. Whatever happened, Matt would have some handy excuse. He'd make up some story or change an old one, find some dumb quote to explain it all.