Let Me In

by John Ajvide Lindqvist

Didn’t wipe up the drop of blood. Let someone see it, let them wonder. Let them think someone had been killed here, because someone had been killed here. And for the hundreth time.

Real love is to offer your life at the feet of another, and that’s what people today are incapable of.

Mom. What do I tell her? The truth. He needed comforting. In an hour mom would be home and then he would tell her what they had done to him and she would be completely distraught and hug him and hug him and he would sink into her arms, into her tears, and they would cry together.

They allot so much of their resources when a nobody decides his life is over?

Let a person in and he hurts you. There was a reason why she kept her relationships brief. Don’t let them in. Once they’re inside they have more potential to hurt you. Comfort yourself. You can live with the anguish as long as it only involves yourself. As long as there is no hope.

Larry fumbled with his keys while thousands of years of human suffering, of helplessness and disappointments, that for the moment had found an outlet in Lacke’s frail body continued to pour out of him.

Looked completely sick in the current context. A parrot among crows.