No One Knows What To Do With

I Wish She Was Dead,' He Says. 'i Wish They Were All Dead And We Were, Too. It Would Be Best.

But Collective Thinking Is Usually Short-lived. We're Fickle, Stupid Beings With Poor Memories And A Great Gift For Self-destruction.

A Verbal Promise Behind Closed Doors, Even A Statement Written On Paper-these Could Easily Evaporate . . . .

Not Only Does He Hate Me, And Want To Kill Me, He No Longer Believes I'm Human. It Was Less Painful Being Strangled.

In Really Bad Times, The Hungriest Would Gather At His Door At Nightfall, Vying For The Chance To Earn A Few Coins To Feed Their Families By Selling Their Bodies. Had I Been Older When My Father Died, I Might Have Been Among Them. Instead I Learned To Hunt.