I Like To Think That Im Helping

Four Flips The Gun In This Hand, Presses The Barrel To Peter's Forehead, And Clicks A Bullet Into Place. Peter Freezes With His Lips Parted, The Yawn Dead In His Mouth. "wake. Up," Four Snaps. "you Are Holding A Loaded Gun, You Idiot. Act Like It.

Writing Means Not Just Staring Ugliness In The Face, But Finding A Way To Embrace It.

Eric Called Al's Suicide Brave, And He Was Wrong. My Mother's Death Was Brave. I Remember How Calm She Was, How Determined. It Isn't Just Brave That She Died For Me; It Is Brave That She Did It Without Announcing It, Without Hesitation, And Without Appearing To Consider Another Option.

You're Not Very Nice," I Say, Grinning. "you're One To Talk." "hey, I Could Be Nice If I Tried." "hmm." He Taps His Chin. "say Something Nice, Then." "you're Very Good-looking." He Smiles, His Teeth A Flash In This Dark. "i Like This 'nice' Thing.

I Shift From One Foot To The Other, Trying To Get A Good Look At Him. When I Finally Do, I Look Away. His Eyes Were Already On Me, Probably Drawn By My Nervous Movement.