I'm a very neat monster.
Getting yelled at by a furious woman should be treated as a semiformal occasion.
The whole point of wearing a disguise was to be seen wearing her.
I waved to everybody. Some of them even waved back. They knew me, had seen me go by before, always cheerful, a big hello for everybody. He was such a nice man. Very friendly. I can’t believe he did those horrible things . . .
Rectory always sounded to me like a place where you would find a proctologist.
After a long moment I closed the freezer door. I wanted to lie down and press my cheek against the cool linoleum. Instead I reached out with my little finger and flipped the Barbie's head. It went thack thack against the door. I flipped it again. Thack thack. Whee. I had a new hobby.
Nothing else loves me, or ever will. Not even - especially - me. I know what I am and that is not a thing to love.
In that tremendous flash of freedom, on my way to do The Thing for the first time, sanctioned by Almighty Harry, I receded, faded back into the scenery of my own dark self, whole the other me crouched and growled. I would do It at last, do what I had been created to do. And I did.
Another dream. Another long-distance call on my phantom party line. No wonder i had steadfastly refused to have dreams for most of my life. So stupid; such pointless, obvious symbols. Totally uncontrollable anxiety soup, hateful, blatant nonsense.
Feeling - what authentic human fun!
Why bother inflicting enormous pain on yourself when sooner or later Life would certainly get around to doing it for you?
A reasonable being might think that he and I could find some common ground; have a cup of coffee and compare our Passengers, exchange trade talk and chitchat about dismemberment techniques. But no: Doakes wanted me dead. And I found it difficult to share his point of view.
Our universe is ruled by random whim, inhabited by people who laugh at logic.
And then more quiet, silence so deep it almost drowned out the roar of the night music that pounded away in my secret self.
Because I am an inhuman monster, I tend to be logical.
It’s an odd term, 'girlfriend,' particularly for grown persons. And in practice it provides an even odder concept. Generally speaking, in adults it described a woman, not a girl, who was willing to provide sex, not friendship. In fact, from what I had observed it was quite possible for one to actively dislike one’s girlfriend, although of course true hatred is reserved for marriage.
For my part, my interest in Paris had faded away completely long ago when I learned that it was in France.
This was just no fun. I wanted my brain back.
And as we should all know by now, anytime you predict failure you have an excellent chance of being right.
And here I always thought morality was useless.
Or was he saying, "Hi! Wanna play?" And I did. Of course I did.
I was good at being charming, one of my very few vanities.
I enjoyed watching good-looking idiots looking at each other. A great spectator sport.
I think that's nice, and if I could have feelings at all I would have them for Deb.
It revealed a cruelty that really made one wonder if the universe was such a good idea after all.
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