Prometheus, thief of light, giver of light, bound by the gods, must have been a book.

...life's big. If you can't fix it, give it a spin.

Make no mistake, those who write long books have nothing to say. Of course those who write short books have even less to say.

I still get nightmares. In fact, I get them so often I should be used to them by now. I'm not. No one ever really gets used to nightmares.

Back on shore everyone was pretty messed up, but the owner/captain was by far the worst off. He ended up drunk for a week, though the only thing he ever said was "So?" The boat's gone. "So?" Your mate's dead. "So?" Hey at least you're alive. "So?" An awful word but it does harden you. It hardened me.

Here then at long last is my darkness. No cry of light, no glimmer, not even the faintest shard of hope to break free across the hold.

Do not wake me from this slumber, but be assured that just as I have wept much, I have also wandered many roads with my thoughts.