Sighing, she gave a brief nod. “I was supposed to win. I was supposed to finish you off. They never counted on you winning. And then you didn’t kill me. It was awful.” “You’re welcome,” I said, feeling fresh anger ignite. “I’ll try not to humiliate you by letting you live next time.” (Max II to Max)

fang will be the first to die

For me, "Zoo" has always been a fable. It has nothing to do with realism. It's a fable about what man is doing to the world, and the animals have retribution. But in the real world, this would not happen. But in the world of 1984, this kind of thing can happen in a story.

Maybe he was a good a good whitecoat—like Jeb. And maybe the moon was made of cream cheese.

Then I went to bed and cried into my pillow. I wasn't sad, not at all. It was just so beautiful to have an intense feeling and the right words at the same time. What are we but our stories?

I fell into a deep sleep tucked in that little cocoon, a deeper sleep than I might of had in years. Right up until someone kicked me and said "Gotcha!

Oh no! Don't drag us away from Antartica and take us to the playground of the rich and famous! Not that briar patch! -Max