And we will be ready, at the end of every day will be ready, will not say no to anything, will try to stay awake while everyone is sleeping, will not sleep, will make the shoes with the elves, will breathe deeply all the time, breathe in all the air full of glass and nails and blood, will breathe it and drink it, so rich, so when it comes we will not be angry, will be content, tired enough to go, gratefully, will shake hands with everyone, bye, bye, and then pack a bag, some snacks, and go to the volcano.

Loneliness is just a thing that I'm not personally interested in. So far, it hasn't been on my docket of things to write about.

Why do we pursue information that we know will never leave our heads?

My voice and movements are restricted by the things I own.

My parents told me they were going to kill me at least a thousand times growing up. "I'm gonna kill you," and then they'd whack me on the side of the head or whatever. And "What's wrong with you?" And "I'm gonna lock you up," and "I'm gonna throw you out the window," and "I'm gonna kill you." You know, all these things that you say in the heat of a normal chaotic household.

Well, my background is journalism. I don't have any creative-writing experience except for one class I took as a sophomore in college.

But everyone disappears, no matter who loves them.