Remember, remember the fifth of November...

I left my home,
where the dead never rose
For these streets of gold I've yet to find

At the end of the day,
all you can do is pray
Without hope, you might as well be blind

Suddenly it was sundown for us.
Suddenly our day was over.
Suddenly the sky was bathed in blood.

'Mister, I deal in lead.'

And the thunder of my guns filled me with stupid wonder. But I did not kill with them. I killed with my heart.

Maria's mixing up the poison in the bathroom ( Read more... )

The first time I died was twenty years ago. Vehicular homicide. I was on the corner of 106th and 108th, waiting, and then I heard a scream. The kind that tires make. I didn't even have time to look before the car went over me. It could have been a Volkswagen for all I know, but it didn't really make much of a difference. It might as well have been ( Read more... )

All the kids have run inside ( Read more... )

In my dreams, I see all of my friends. They look sickly, and dead, but they seem to grin malevolently as they approach. Their eyes are as black as the depths of the Styx, and their arms, spread as if to greet me with a hug, seem to portend something more. Something sinister, wicked. They whisper to me, promising to show me things, secrets I would ( Read more... )

"What is the worst thing you have ever done?"
"I won't tell you that, but I'll tell you the worst thing that ever happened to me...the most dreadful thing..."

It doesn't matter if you are through with the past, because the past is never through with you. The past is a ghost. And ghost are always hungry.

Looking back on it, what happened to Hark seemed to happen in a series of incidents. I suppose when everything is said and done, every situation appears to have taken place like this. It scares us to think such thoughts. Nothing good can come from realizing that things don't just happen, that there are no coincedences. There is just something in ( Read more... )

I miss her.