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Looking back prompts too many questions: How believable are my characters? How interesting is my story? How good is this, really? Will anyone care? Do I care myself?
Above, the stars were unwinking, also constant.
“Long days and pleasant nights, stranger.” “And may you have twice the number.”
Was there ever a trap to match the trap of love?
But that’s only pretty. My mother used to say that the only real beauty is order and love and light.
It was noon. He looked up, letting the cloudy, unsettled daylight shine for the last time on the all-too-vulnerable sun of his own righteousness. No one ever really pays for betrayal in silver, he thought. The price of any betrayal always comes due in flesh. “Come with
How we make large circles in earth for ourselves, he thought. Around we go, back to the start and the start is there again: resumption, which was ever the curse of daylight.
They had discovered one could grow as hungry for light as for food.
“Are they going to get us?” the boy asked calmly. “Never in life. Be quiet a second.”
All the chips on the table. Every card up but one. The boy dangled, a living Tarot card, the Hanged Man, the Phoenician sailor, innocent lost and barely above the wave of a stygian sea. Wait then, wait awhile.
“Go then. There are other worlds than these.
The Tower will kill you half a world away.” “You know nothing of me,” the gunslinger said quietly, and the smile faded from the other’s lips.
What hurt you once will hurt you twice. This is not the beginning but the beginning’s end. You’d do well to remember that . . . but you never do.” “I don’t understand.”
“No. You don’t. You never did. You never will. You have no imagination. You’re blind that way.” “What did I see?” the gunslinger asked. “What did I see at the end? What was it?” “What did it seem to be?”
“Yes,” the man in black said, and he smiled at the gunslinger with his depthless eyes and stretched one of his hands out toward him. “Let there be light.” And there was light, and this time the light was good.
