Keep breathing. Just keep doing it. It's easy. In and out.

Three points for the dead slowly prising open the lids of their coffins. They want to hunt the living. They can't stop. Their throats have turned to liquid and their fingers glint under the weak autumn sun.

Every breath, every heartbeat, was one less until maybe things stopped hurting this much.

Keep breathing. Just keep doing it. It's easy. In and out.

Life is made up of a series of moments, each one a journey to the end.

I can see inside planes!' he yells. 'Come and look!' It's difficult climbing in a mini dress...I haul myself up even though my arms ache. I want to see inside planes too. I want to watch the wind and catch birds in my fist.

Do you want this to be a love story?