I am exceedingly angry for no good reason.

Wars of small kingdoms and forgotten lands, what do chessmen dream of in the dark?

It's the possibility that when you're dead you might still go on hurting that bothers me.

A family can be the bane of one's existence. A family can also be most of the meaning of one's existence. I don't know whether my family is bane or meaning, but they have surely gone away and left a large hole in my heart.

But hands are sacred things. Touch is personal, fingers of love, feelers of blind eyes, tongues of those who cannot talk.

I am exceedingly angry for no good reason.

I am in limbo, and in limbo there are no races, no prizes, no changes, no chances. There are merely degrees of endurance, and endurance never was my strong point.