Sometimes you fight what you are, and sometimes you give in to it. And some nights you just don’t want to fight yourself anymore, so you pick someone else to fight.

What does it mean when the monsters are so afraid of you that you make them cry? That maybe monster depends on which end of the gun your on, or that I was just that good at my job.

I wanted to wipe the grin off his face with a fist. I resisted the urge. Who says I have no self-control?

Is death such a high price to pay, when you will die anyway?

I feel that if you are blessed, or lucky enough, to be doing well, you should help others.

He made a small sigh, as he swallowed the first blood, then his mouth closed over my earlobe, mouth working at the wound, tongue coaxing blood from the wound. He pressed his body the length of mine, one hand cupping my turned head, the other playing down the line of my body. Maybe it was just blood, but I never stroked my steak while eating it.

It was like noticing the sun. You couldn't help but see it, to turn to face the heat of it, to bask in the glory of it. But often when the sun is high in the sky, the moon is up there, too. A dim memory of what she will be in the night, but there, nonetheless, dim and misty, hard and white. At night, there is only the moon, the sun is nowhere to be seen. There are no distractions when the moon rules the sky.