The Cruelty Of Fate Is That I

It Is A Gift. You Cannot Earn It, Or It Ceases To Be A Gift.

The Fire, The Fire. It Rages Within, A Campfire And Then An Inferno, And My Body Is Its Fuel. I Feel It Racing Through Me, Eating Away At The Weight. There Is Nothing That Can Kill Me Now; I Am Powerful And Invincible And Eternal.

All That Land Is Filled With People, Every One Of Them Different, And The Things They Do To Each Other Matter.

Sometimes, All It Takes To Save People From A Terrible Fate Is One Person Willing To Do Something About It. Even If That "something" Is A Fake Bathroom Break.

Four Sits Down On The Edge Of The Carousel, Leaning Against A Plastic Horse's Foot. His Eyes Lift To The Sky, Where There Are No Stars, Only A Round Moon Peking Through A Thin Layer Of Clouds. The Muscles In His Arms Are Relaxed; His Hand Rests On The Back Of His Neck. He Looks Almost Comfortable, Holding That Gun To His Shoulder. I Close My Eyes Briefly. Why Does He Distract Me So Easily? I Need To Focus.