Morning Star

A man thinks he can fly, but he is afraid to jump. A poor friend pushes him from behind.” He looks up at me. “A good friend jumps with.

Forget a man’s name and he’ll forgive you. Remember it, and he’ll defend you forever.

You and I keep looking for light in the darkness, expecting it to appear. But it already has.” I touch his shoulder. “We’re it, boyo. Broken and cracked and stupid as we are, we’re the light, and we’re spreading.

justice isn’t about fixing the past, it’s about fixing the future. We’re not fighting for the dead. We’re fighting for the living. And for those who aren’t yet born.

And I wonder, in my last moments, if the planet does not mind that we wound her surface or pillage her bounty, because she knows we silly warm things are not even a breath in her cosmic life. We have grown and spread, and will rage and die. And when all that remains of us is our steel monuments and plastic idols, her winds will whisper, her sands will shift, and she will spin on and on, forgetting about the bold, hairless apes who thought they deserved immortality.

If your heart beats like a drum, and your legs a little wet, it’s because the Reaper’s come to collect a little debt.

Bye, Felicia.

Man is no island. We need those who love us. We need those who hate us. We need others to tether us to life, to give us a reason to live, to feel.

The Reaper has come. And he’s brought hell with him.

I will give Eo your love. I will make a house for you in the Vale of your fathers. It will be beside my own. Join me there when you die.” He grins. “But I am no builder. So take your time. We will wait.

Sevro." I lean forward. "Your eyes..."He leans in close. "Do you like 'em?""Bloodydamn. Did you get Carved?""By the best in the business. Do you like 'em?""They're bloodydamn marvelous. Fit you like a glove."He punches his hands together. "Glad you said that. Cuz they're yours."I blanch. "What?""They're yours.""My what?""Your eyes!""My eyes...""Do you want the eyes back?" Sevro asks, suddenly worried. "I can give them back.""No!" I say. "It's just I forgot how crazy you are.""Oh." He laughs and slaps my shoulder. "Good. I thought it might be something serious. So I'm prime keeping them?""Finders keepers," I say with a shrug.

In war, men lose what makes them great. Their creativity. Their wisdom. Their joy. All that’s left is their utility.

You know a people have given up when they stop teaching their children.

What is pride without honor? What is honor without truth? Honor is not what you say. It is not what you read.” Romulus thumps his chest. “Honor is what you do.

If you're watching, Eo, it's time to close your eyes. The Reaper has come. And he's brought hell with him.

If this is the end, I will rage toward it.

You! Troll!" Sevro shouts. "I'm a terrorist warlord! Stop throwing me. You made me drop by candy!

This is always how the story would end,” he says to me. “Not with your screams. Not with your rage. But with your silence.

Our lives mean so much more than the frail bodies that carry them.

Everything is cracked, everything is stained except the fragile moments that hang crystalline in time and make life worth living.

It takes more to hope than to remember.

I’m a bloodydamn Helldiver with an army of giant, mildly psychotic women behind me and a fleet of state-of-the-art warships crewed by pissed-off pirates, engineers, techs, and former slaves.

All that we have is that shout into the wind--how we live. How we go. And how we stand before we fall.--Karnus Au Bellona

How many mothers have prayed to see their sons, their daughters return from war only to realize the war has kept them, the world has poisoned them, and they’ll never be the same?

I am not alone. I am not his victim. So let him do his worst. I am the Reaper. I know how to suffer. I know the darkness.

Shit escalates

I thought being a man was having control. Being the master and commander of your own destiny. How could any boy know that freedom is lost the moment you become a man. Things start to count. To press in. Constricting slowly, inevitably, creating a cage of inconveniences and duties and deadlines and failed plans and lost friends.

My chair rolls to a stop. his voice cut short, followed by a thump and sliding sound. My wheelchair rolls forward again. I look back and see Ragnar pushing it innocently along. Sevro isn't in the hallway behind us. I frown, wondering where he went, till he bursts out of a side passage."You! Troll!" Sevro shouts. "I'm a terrorist warlord! Stop throwing me. You made me drop my candy!" Sevro looks at the floor of the hallway. "Wait. Where is it? Dammit, Ragnar. Where is my peanut bar? You know how many people I had to kill to get that? Six! Six!" Ragnar chews quietly above me, and though I'm probably mistaken, I think I see him smile.

Pity is not forgiveness, nor is gratitude absolution.

Government is never the solution, but it is almost always the problem.