Though He Does Not Touch Me, He

Beatrice," She Says. "beatrice, We Have To Run." She Pulls My Arm Across Her Shoulders And Hauls Me To My Feet. She Is Dressed Like My Mother And She Looks Like My Mother, But She Is Holding A Gun, And The Determined Look In Her Eyes Is Unfamiliar To Me.

It's Easy To Be Brave When They're Not My Fears.

I'm Surprised You Know That," I Say Quietly, " Since You Left Halfway Through My One And Only Fight." "it Wasn't Something I Wanted To Watch." He Says. What's That Supposed To Mean?

We Kiss Again And This Time, It Feels Familiar. I Know Exactly How We Fit Together, His Arm Around My Waist, My Hands On His Chest, The Pressure Of His Lips On Mine. We Have Each Other Memorized.

Decades Ago, Our Ancestors Realized That It Is Not Just Political Ideology, Religious Belief, Race, Or Nationalism That Is To Blame For A Warring World. Rather, They Determined That It Was The Fault Of Human Personality - Of Humankind's Inclination Towards Evil, In Whatever Form That Is. They Divided Into Factions That Sought To Eradicate Those Qualities They Believed Responsible For The World's Disarray.