Luck Ran Out, But Smart Was For

He Would Talk To Them Of Stories And Books, And Explain To Them How Stories Wanted To Be Told And Books Wanted To Be Read, And How Everything That They Ever Needed To Know About Life And The Land Of Which He Wrote, Or About Any Land Or Realm That They Could Imagine, Was Contained In Books. And Some Of The Children Understood, And Some Did Not.

They Were On The Side Of The Angels, Even If The Angels Weren't Entirely Sure That This Was A Good Thing.

On More Than One Occasion David, In His Urge To Explore The Darker Corners Of The Bookshelves, Had Found Himself Wearing Strands Of Spider Silk In His Face And Hair, Causing The Web's Creator To Scuttle Into A Corner And Crouch Balefully, Lost In Thoughts Of Arachnoid Revenge.

She Was Plump, With Dyed Red Hair And A Face So Caked With Cosmetics That The Floor Of The Amazon Jungle Probably Saw More Natural Light.

David's Mother Would Often Tell Him Stories Were Alive. They Weren't Alive In The Way People Were Alive,or Even Dogs Or Cats. People Were Alive Whether You Chose To Notice Them Or Not, While Dogs Tended To Make You Notice Them If They Decided That You Weren't Paying Enough Attention. Cats, Meanwhile, Were Very Good At Pretending People Didn't Exist At All When It Suited Them.