There are worse things you can do to the people you love than kill them. The regular way is just to watch the world do it. Just read the newspaper.

At That Moment, it seemed the whole world cared what happened to him. All those people were hugging him and petting his hair. Everybody asked if he was okay. It seemed that moment would last forever. That you had to risk your life to get love. You had to get right to the edge of death to ever be saved.

I am not loved. I am not a beautiful soul. I am not a good-natured, giving person. I am not anybody's savior.

The religious school she went to, growing up, Ms. Wright said how all the girls had to wear a scarf tied to cover their ears at all times. Based on the biblical idea that the Virgin Mary became pregnant when the Holy Spirit whispered in her ear. The idea that ears were vaginas. That, hearing just one wrong idea, you lost your innocence. One detail too many and you’d be ruined. Overdosed on information.

At this rate, we'll never get to the future.

Here are the shadows left behind by a thousand moments, a thousand moods, of needs traced here on the wall by men who are gone. Here is the record of their being here.

The only thing I shy away from is non-consensual violence. I can't write a story where someone is a simple victim because it's boring.