I'm starting to understand that fear is like cancer - you can beat it back, but if it returns, it can be worse than ever.

But the universe isn't fair. Things don't work out neatly, pain, hardship and challenges divided equally among those best equipped to deal with them. Sometimes individuals have to be Atlases and carry the weight of the world alone. It shouldn't happen that way, but it does.

If this were a made-up story, it would begin at night, with a storm blowing and owls hooting and rattling noises under the bed.

No, thats not how it happened... Mr crepsley dropped. He was impaled on the stakes. He died. And it was awful... His cries as he writhed there, bleeding and dying, burning and screaming, will stay with me till I die. Maybe I'll even carry them with me after I go.

Childhood is the purest state. The pure of heart never leave it behind. Their life merely takes them on a cirtuitous route away from, and then back to it.

If mankind's destined to bite the bullet, let's bite it and be damned.

Maybe we should wait....wait for him to kill another five or six, huh?