It's Different Being Afraid When There's The

In Her Mind's Eye She Saw It, Saw It All At Last: The Rolling Armies And The Flames Of Battle; The Graves And Pits And Dying Cries Of A Hundred Million Souls; The Spreading Darkness, Like A Black Wing Stretching Over The Earth; The Last, Bitter Hours Of Cruelty And Sorrow, And The Terrible, Final Flights; Death's Great Dominion Over All, And, At The Last, Empty Cities, Becalmed By The Silence Of A Hundred Years. Already These Things Were Coming To Pass.

One Thing That Worried Me Was How Writers Get Categorized And So They End Up Having To Write The Same Kind Of Book Again And Again. That Is Fine If It Is What You Want To Do, But I Would Rather Be Locked In The Trunk Of My Car With A Weasel Than Write The Same Book Every Three Years Until I Die.

It Happened Fast. Thirty-two Minutes For One World To Die, Another To Be Born.

There Was Something In The Pages Of These Books That Had The Power To Make Him Feel Better About Things, A Life Raft To Cling To Before The Dark Currents Of Memory Washed Him Downstream Again, And On Brighter Days, He Could Even See Himself Going On This Way For Some Time. A Small But Passable Life. And Then, Of Course, The End Of The World Happened.

On A Fading Summer Evening, Late In The Last Hours Of His Old Life, Peter Jaxon-son Of Demetrius And Prudence Jaxon, First Family; Descendent Of Terrence Jaxon, Signatory Of The One Law; Great-great-nephew Of The One Known As Auntie, Last Of The First; Peter Of Souls, The Man Of Days And The One Who Stood-took His Position On The Catwalk Above Main Gate, Waiting To Kill His Brother.