P.J. Parker

Do not fret, my brother, my child. For the buffalo will roam the plains once more.

Do you understand the meaning of the soil beneath your feet?

The stuff of nightmares is not only relegated to unconscious thoughts upon a pillow, safely beneath an eiderdown.

He pushed a finger through the surface of the water to trace the outline of her mouth. Ethereal bits of flesh floated loosely about his knuckle and nail. Then, calmly, he pulled her body up out of the tub and into his arms. He placed his lips on hers, now as cold and dead as his own.

I have created something and let it loose upon the world. Whether it was my right to do so or not, I cannot say. At times I am filled with love for my creation. At others I am filled with regret and horror. But it is done. It has been created.