Take What Is Offered And That Must

If They Asked How I Died Tell Them: Still Angry.

When A Man You Know To Be Of Sound Mind Tells You His Recently Deceased Mother Has Just Tried To Climb In His Bedroom Window And Eat Him, You Only Have Two Basic Options. You Can Smell His Breath, Take His Pulse And Check His Pupils To See If He's Ingested Anything Nasty, Or You Can Believe Him.

It Was The Single Forgiving Phrase In The Syntax Of Weaponry I Had Strapped About Me. The Rest Were Unequivocal Sentences Of Death.

Science Casts A Long Black Shadow Back Over Who We Think We Are, And Where It Falls The Temperature Falls With It. Its Touch Is Chilly And Unforgiving.

Pretty Much Anything You Care To Imagine Can Happen In A Fantasy, Which In Turn Means You Can Really Crank Up The Intensity Of The Tale You're Telling.