The Black Farm (The Black Farm, #1)

by Elias Witherow

You know nothing. You’re a newborn in some fucked up place created by bickering, omnipotent entities. No one hears you, no one can help you. This reality is as cruel and violent as the one you left.

I leaned into him. “I’ve already been broken. But you know what? I put myself back together. You know what’s different now, though?” Danny just glared at me. “All those broken pieces have edges now, fucker,” I growled. “Now get the fuck out of my face.”

Men need purpose. When they are denied or stripped of that, what remains is an aimless shell of anger and violence. Instead of working to gain back their purpose they build something new in which to define themselves. This new platform regrows the ego and straightens the bended knee.

Men with self-created purpose is a dangerous thing and I felt its jaws all around me.

you can’t taste it…you can’t hold it in your hands. You can’t buy it and you can’t sell it. Love is an idea that has to grow in the individual’s mind, fertilized and cared for with great tenderness.” Tolin spread his arms. “For a race obsessed with material objects, isn’t it funny that the most desired possession of the human heart…is love?”