Regret is pointless. I never do anything without first deciding to do it based on facts and feelings, and if it doesn't work out how I hoped, oh well, there's another notch on my experience belt.

I've always been interested in writing from the perspective of an outsider.

Just... ate," M says, frowning at me a little. "Two days...ago." I grab my stomach again. "Feel empty. Feel... dead." He nods. "Marr...iage.

I can’t seem to make myself care about anything to the right or left of the present.

We eat and sleep and shuffle through the fog, walking a marathon with no finish line, no medals, no cheering.

No praise, no blame. Just so.

I am Dead, but it's not so bad. I've learned to live with it.