I raised my hands, trying to shush her. "Don't shush me," she said, eyes blazing. "I hate being shushed.

I turned around and headed back to the stairwell, planning to go downstairs and buy a chocolate bar from the vending machine. Maybe it would fall on me and end my misery.

If anyone comes near you, just scream and run.

You're like something drawn with the sun's fire, and I can take only little glimpses of you.

I raised my hands, trying to shush her. "Don't shush me," she said, eyes blazing. "I hate being shushed.

Here's all I know: that the world is uncontrollable. Chaos reigns. That anything and everything might be possible. I won't subscribe to any rational system again. Nothing will bind me.

I'm cursed with this puritanical streak that makes me want everything to be about something. It's a terrible affliction.