Author has written 252 stories for General, General, Fantasy, Historical, Love, Essay, Romance, Politics, War, and Life.(look at my livejournal, i finally got one!)
“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.”
The subadar jerked his short, thick arm toward the empty arch where Comyn and the German and Monaghan had disappeared. "Did you hear what he said? This life is nothing."
"You can think so," Bland said. "But, by God, I'd hate to think that what I saved out of the last three years is nothing."
"You saved a dead man," the subadar said serenely. "You will see."
"I saved my destiny," Bland said. "You nor nobody knows what that will be."
"What is your destiny except to be dead? It is unfortunate that your generation had to be the one. It is unfortunate that for the better part of your days you will walk the earth a spirit. But that was your destiny." From far away came the shouting, on that sustained note, feminine and childlike all at once, and then the band again, brassy, thudding, like the voices, forlornly gay, hysteric, but most of all forlorn. The arch in the cold glow of the light yawned empty, profound, silent, like the gate to another city, another world.
"Hell," Bland said. "I want a drink." He turned to me. "Where's your bottle?"
"Gone where? You had two."
"I haven't got one now, though. Drink water."
"Water?" he said. "Who the hell drinks water?"
Then the hot ball came into my stomach again, pleasant, unbearable, real; again that instant when you say Now. Now I can dump everything. "You will, you goddamned son," I said.
"Dream Song 22"
I am the little man who smokes & smokes.
I am the enemy of the mind.
It is the Fourth of July.
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