Dr. Warthrop chopped off my finger with a butcher knife.

A man lies upon the floor, spreads his arms, and transforms himself into a ship of a thousand sails.

We are the hunters---and we are also the bait.

Yes, my dear child, monsters are real. I happen to have one hanging in my basement.

A child has little defense against the sight of a parent laid low. Parents, like the earth beneath our feet and the sun above our heads, are immutable objects, eternal and reliable. If one should fall, who might vouch the sun itself won't fall, burning, into the sea?

What boy my age didn’t dream of fleeing the well-tended lawn and lamp-lit street for the untamed wilderness, where grand adventure awaited on the other side of the horizon, where the stars burned undimmed in the velvet sky above his head and the virgin ground lay untrodden beneath his feet?

What were they thinking? 'It's an alien apocalypse! Quick, grab the beer!