...the Plural Of Elf Is Elves! What

I Know There Is A Moral To This Story, But I Don't Know What It Is.

All My Life I Have Arrived Early Only To Find Myself Standing Self-consciously On A Corner, Outside A Door, In An Empty Room, But The Closer I Get To Death The Earlier I Arrive, The Longer I Am Content To Wait, Perhaps To Give Myself The False Sensation That There Is Too Much Time Rather Than Not Enough.

He Held My Hand And Told Me A Story About When He Was Six And Threw A Rock At A Kid's Head Who Was Bullying His Brother, And How After That No One Had Bothered Either Of Them Again. 'you Have To Stick Up For Yourself,' He Told Me. 'but It's Bad To Throw Rocks,' I Said. 'i Know. You're Smarter Than Me. You'll Find Something Better Than Rocks.

She [my Mother] Was The Force Around Which Our World Turned. My Mother Was Propelled Through The Universe By The Brute Force Of Reason. She Was The Judge In All Our Arguments. One Disapproving Word From Her Was Enough To Send Us Off To Hide In A Corner, Where We Would Cry And Fantasize Our Own Martyrdom. And Yet. One Kiss Could Restore Us To Princedom. Without Her, Our Lives Would Dissolve Into Chaos.

I Do Realize That The Reader Needs Some Form Of Resolution. Sometimes I Think Of It Almost Like Writing A Musical Score Where Things Have To Harmonize And Certain Lines Have To Come To A Close.