It is a ruined-world, a nonsense-place.

The Story of Solomon is the only way I know how to explain. And then, in smaller letters: Forgive me.

The rules of Panic are simple. Anyone can enter. But only one person will win.

In my head I try and reach back, through the fence, past the smoke; I try and grab his hand and pull. Alex, come back. There is nothing to do but sink. The hours close around me, encase me completely, like a tomb.

I guess there are some things you never get used to.

Funny how time heals. Like that bullet in my ribs. It's there, I know it's there, but I can barely feel it at all anymore.

Maybe it would be better if we didn't love. If we didn't lose, either. If we didn't get out hearts stomped on, shattered; if we didn't have to patch and repatch it until we're like Frankenstein monsters, all sewn together by who knows what