***A Last note from your narrator*** I am haunted by humans.

The point is, Ilsa Hermann had decided to make suffering her triumph. When it refused to let go of her, she succumbed to it. She embraced it.

They'd been standing like that for thirty seconds of forever.

When death captures me,' the boy vowed, 'he will feel my fist on his face.' Personally, I quite like that. Such stupid gallantry. Yes. I like that a lot.

The pages and the words are my world, spread out before your eyes and for your hand to touch. Vaguely, I can see you face looking down into me, as I look back. Do you see my eyes?

The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be any of this.

People have defining moments, i suppose, especially when they're children.