Here Is A Truth, A

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

‎"sarge, Mr. Nurd Here Is Threatening To Turn Me To Jelly." "really?" Said Sarge. "what Flavor?

Without A Human Voice To Read Them Aloud, Or A Pair Of Wide Eyes Following Them By Flashlight Beneath A Blanket, They Had No Real Existence In Our World. They Were Like Seeds In The Beak Of A Bird, Waiting To Fall To Earth, Or The Notes Of A Song Laid Out On A Sheet, Yearning For An Instrument To Bring Their Music Into Being.

My Feelings For Raphael Are Mine, And Mine Alone. I Loved Him, And That Is All Anyone Needs To Know. The Rest Is No Business Of Any Man's.

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.