Fiction Novels, That's My Game.

I Was Half Asleep But I Smiled. In Spite Of All His Irritating Qualities, I Couldn't Help Liking A Man Who Despised A Fictional Character With Such Passion.

The Fire Was Silent, The Little Houses Collapsing Into The Flames Without Complaint, Flocks Of Sparks Rising To The Sky. At A Distance It Seemed Beautiful, And I Thought It Was Strange That Powerful Violence Is Often So Pleasing To The Eye.

This Wasn't The Way I Had Imagined My Adventures, But Reality Ignored My Wishes From The Get-go, Giving Me A Body Best Suited For Stacking Books In The Library, Injecting So Much Fear Into My Veins That I Could Only Cower In The Stairwell When The Violence Came. Maybe Someday My Arms And Legs Would Thicken With Muscle And The Fear Would Drain Away Like Dirty Bathwater. I Wish I Believed These Things Would Happen, But I Didn't.

I've Always Envied People Who Sleep Easily. Their Brains Must Be Cleaner, The Floorboards Of The Skull Well Swept, All The Little Monsters Closed Up In A Steamer Trunk At The Foot Of The Bed.

I Was Like A Well Trained Pianist Who Knows Which Note To Hit, But Can't Make The Music His Own.