A friend is like anything else. A dog, a plant. You ignore them and they tend to die on you.

Reality is in the business of killing off fiction.

I must be dead for there is nothing but blue snow and the furious silence of a gunshot.

I am so stupid, so easily fooled. It's really almost funny. If I could lift a finger I would gladly kill myself.

Disappear, she says. I love that word.

They give me a shot and a handful of pills to swallow. I stare at the thin red wall of my inner eyelid and listen to my skin and I can't be sure how the medication is affecting me. I can't remember how I'm supposed to feel. I can't remember my name. I have never seen my face.

A friend is like anything else. A dog, a plant. You ignore them and they tend to die on you.