She wanted none of those days to end, and it was always with disappointment that she watched the darkness stride forward.

July 24, 6:03 A.M. The laundry was warm and the rafters were firm, and Michael Holzapfel jumped from the chair as if it were a cliff... Michael Holzapfel knew what he was doing. He killed himself for wanting to live.

I feel the fear, but I walk fast toward it.

She wanted none of those days to end, and it was always with disappointment that she watched the darkness stride forward.

Mystery bores me. It chores me. I know what happens and so do you. It's the machinations that wheel us there that aggravate, perplex, interest, and astound me.

Yes, the sky was now a devastating, home-cooked red. The small German town had been flung apart one more time. Snowflakes of ash fell so lovelily you were tempted to stretch out your tongue to catch them, taste them. Only, they would have scorched your lips. They would have cooked your mouth.

If you can't imagine it, think clumsy silence. Think bits and pieces of floating despair. And drowning in a train.