Without A Human Voice To Read Them

I'm A Ghost," Said The Small Figure, Then Added, A Little Uncertainly, "boo?

I Think The Act Of Reading Imbues The Reader With A Sensitivity Toward The Outside World That People Who Don't Read Can Sometimes Lack. I Know It Seems Like A Contradiction In Terms; After All Reading Is Such A Solitary, Internalizing Act That It Appears To Represent A Disengagement From Day-to-day Life. But Reading, And Particularly The Reading Of Fiction, Encourages Us To View The World In New And Challenging Ways...it Allows Us To Inhabit The Consciousness Of Another Which Is A Precursor To Empathy, And Empathy Is, For Me, One Of The Marks Of A Decent Human Being.

This Life Is Filled With Threats And Danger, David. We Face Those That We Have To Face, And There Will Be Times When We Must Make The Choice To Act For The Greater Good, Even At Risk To Ourselves, But We Do Not Lay Down Our Lives Needlessly. Each Of Us Has Only One Life To Live, And One Life To Give. There Is No Glory In Throwing It Away Where There Is No Hope.

The Detective Was Different. Not That He Wasn't A Good Man; Willie Had Heard Enough About Him To Understand That He Was The Kind Who Didn't Like To Turn Away From Another's Pain, The Kind Who Couldn't Put A Pillow Over His Ears To Drown Out The Cries Of Strangers. Those Scars He Had Were Badges Of Courage, And Willie Knew That There Were Others Hidden Beneath His Clothes, And Still More Deep Inside, Right Beneath The Skin And Down To The Soul. No, It Was Just That Whatever Goodness Was There Coexisted With Rage And Grief And Loss.

If 'why' Was The First And Last Question, Then Because I Was Curious To See What Would Happen Was The First And Last Answer. A Version Of It Had Been Spoken To God Himself In The Garden Of Eden, And It Was Destined To Be The Reason For The End Of Things At The Hands Of Man.