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Nooooo
Kill ‘em. Set it on fire.
the old poet’s
That’s fucking cool
Get trapped bitch
he had no sense of the intruder in his mind.
She would. Rose was sure of it, and she had seen enough in the mind of the bitchgirl’s companion to know two things: how they had accomplished this slaughter, and how their very connection could be turned against them.
Yikes. Here comes Johnny
Where she could be killed.
worthless bitch, now you’ll take your medicine,
Your father knew how to deal with stupid, disobedient women, and his father before him. Sometimes a woman just needs to take her medicine. She needs—
(MY FATHER KNEW NOTHING!)
Abra was coughing and staring at him. He would have expected shock, but for a girl who had almost been choked to death, she seemed oddly composed. (well… we knew it wouldn’t be easy) “I’m not my father!” Dan shouted at her. “I am not my father!” “Probably that’s good,” Abra said. She actually smiled. “You’ve got one hell of a temper, Uncle Dan. I guess we really are related.”
It was the smell that finally alerted her: something rotten. Not garbage.
Mrs.Massey?
Or Horace
If not for that gust of air… that wasn’t him and she wasn’t here…
Was there ever a teenage girl who felt anything less than immortal?
(she almost did but there was someone)
He was not entirely surprised to see a man standing on the platform by the broken rail. He raised one hand, the summit of Pawnee Mountain visible through it, and sketched a flying kiss that Dan remembered from his childhood. He remembered it well. It had been their special end-of-the-day thing. Bedtime, doc. Sleep tight. Dream up a dragon and tell me about it in the morning.
Dan knew he was going to cry, but not now. This wasn’t the time. He lifted his own hand to his mouth and returned the kiss. He looked for a moment longer at what remained of his father. Then he headed down to the parking lot with Billy. When they got there, he looked back once more. Roof O’ the World was empty.
and now he was most commonly called Doc.
Life was a wheel, its only job was to turn, and it always came back to where it had started.
He had lived long enough to know there was a little scumbag in everyone, but it didn’t help much when you had to take out the trash.
“Everything’s smaller when it’s out,” he said. “I hope you’ll pass that on to your pigeons.”
Why do I know that story? Did Jack tell it?
“Is it the killing you wish you could take back, or the joy of the killing?”
“No lecture and no moral. Just blood calling to blood. The stupid urges of wakeful people. And you’ve made it to a time of life when you’re completely awake.
And now Fred was in the same room where Charlie had died. Life was a wheel, and it always came back around.
“When a codependent is drowning, somebody else’s life flashes before his eyes.”
