Of course it was a terrible thing, and the world would be a much better place without someone in it who could do that, but did that mean we had to miss lunch?
It took me a moment. I blinked, and suddenly it swam into focus and I had to frown very hard to keep myself from giggling out loud like the schoolgirl Deb had accused me of being. Because he had arranged the arms and legs in letters, and the letters spelled out a single small word: BOO. The three torsos were carefully arranged below the BOO in a quarter-circle, making a cute little Halloween smile. What a scamp.
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.
Feeling - what authentic human fun!
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.
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.
And here I always thought morality was useless.
It revealed a cruelty that really made one wonder if the universe was such a good idea after all.
I was good at being charming, one of my very few vanities.
Or was he saying, "Hi! Wanna play?" And I did. Of course I did.
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.
I think that's nice, and if I could have feelings at all I would have them for Deb.
Nothing else loves me, or ever will. Not even - especially - me. I know what I am and that is not a thing to love.
I enjoyed watching good-looking idiots looking at each other. A great spectator sport.
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 . . .
Why bother inflicting enormous pain on yourself when sooner or later Life would certainly get around to doing it for you?
And as we should all know by now, anytime you predict failure you have an excellent chance of being right.
This was just no fun. I wanted my brain back.
For my part, my interest in Paris had faded away completely long ago when I learned that it was in France.
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.
Our universe is ruled by random whim, inhabited by people who laugh at logic.
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.
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