Along the River of Flesh (Gone to See the River Man, #2)

by Kristopher Triana

Love is a ghost story, and the heart is its haunted house.

Unlike those southern boys, Gary Chatmon wanted to forget.

Reality didn’t bend to the expectations of one’s fantasies. That’s why people always said to be careful what you wished for.

Christ wore a crown of thorns. Mine’s made of flesh and bone, and it fits me just right.

“Don’t worry ’bout your sinnin’,” Zeke had said. “If you don’t sin, then it’s like Jesus died for nothin’.”

There would be no next stage, only a sad continuation of this gray oblivion until he found the serenity of the grave.

the moon had turned pink, and the stars were burning red. Soon all the world would glow that color, as if all of Killen were one massive open wound. In a way, Edmund figured it was.

Hell was Heaven. Death was birth. Murder was love.

“The need for home burns in us all. It is not so much a place as it is an emotion.

There are some nightmares so hard-wired into our souls they become a part of us forever,

“The cobra looks down upon the rattlesnake, yet both are filled with venom.”