Laugh as much as possible, because one moment will stop this moment.
Daddy?_____ right here, baby.__umps form in my throat, going all the way down into the core of me.It__ his voice. His. Right there. I reach toward the doorknob but I don__ get to turn it.Nick smashes at me with his head, pushing against my lower jaw and cheek, like a blow. His muzzle moves my head away from the door. He presses his face in between me and the wood. Fur gets in my mouth. I spit it out and push at him.__hat__ my dad. My dad._ I slap the door. __e__ on the other side. The pixies will get him.__ick shows me his teeth.__ can__ lose him again, Nick.__he wolf snarls like he__ ready to bite. My head jerks back and away, but then I steady myself.__et . . . out . . . of . . . the . . . way.__ushing against his thick neck, I slam my hands against him over and over again, pummeling him. He doesn__ budge.__ove!_ I order. __ove.___ara, is there a wolf in there with you? Do not trust him,_ my dad__ voice says, calmly, really calmly.I grab a fistful of fur and freeze. All at once it hits me that something is not right. My dad would never be calm if I was in my bedroom with a wolf. He__ be stressed and screaming, breaking the door down, kicking it in like he did once when I was really little and had accidentally locked myself in the bathroom and couldn__ get the lock out of the bolt because it was so old. He__ kicked that door down, splintering the wood, clutching me to him. He__ kissed my forehead over and over again.____ never let anything happen to you, princess,_ he__ said. __ou__e my baby.__y dad would be kicking the door in. My dad would be saving me.__et me in,_ he says. __ara . . .__etting go of Nick, I stagger backward. My hands fly up to my mouth, covering it.Nick stops snarling at me and wags his fluffy tail.How would my dad know that it is a wolf in here and not a dog? How would he know that it isn__ pixies?I shudder. Nick pounds next to me, pressing his side against my legs. I drop my hands and plunge my fingers into his fur, burying them there, looking for something. Maybe comfort. Maybe warmth. Maybe strength. Maybe all three.
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Daddy?_____ right here, baby.__umps form in my throat, going all the way down into the core of me.It__ his voice. His. Right there. I reach toward the doorknob but I don__ get to turn it.Nick smashes at me with his head, pushing against my lower jaw and cheek, like a blow. His muzzle moves my head away from the door. He presses his face in between me and the wood. Fur gets in my mouth. I spit it out and push at him.__hat__ my dad. My dad._ I slap the door. __e__ on the other side. The pixies will get him.__ick shows me his teeth.__ can__ lose him again, Nick.__he wolf snarls like he__ ready to bite. My head jerks back and away, but then I steady myself.__et . . . out . . . of . . . the . . . way.__ushing against his thick neck, I slam my hands against him over and over again, pummeling him. He doesn__ budge.__ove!_ I order. __ove.___ara, is there a wolf in there with you? Do not trust him,_ my dad__ voice says, calmly, really calmly.I grab a fistful of fur and freeze. All at once it hits me that something is not right. My dad would never be calm if I was in my bedroom with a wolf. He__ be stressed and screaming, breaking the door down, kicking it in like he did once when I was really little and had accidentally locked myself in the bathroom and couldn__ get the lock out of the bolt because it was so old. He__ kicked that door down, splintering the wood, clutching me to him. He__ kissed my forehead over and over again.____ never let anything happen to you, princess,_ he__ said. __ou__e my baby.__y dad would be kicking the door in. My dad would be saving me.__et me in,_ he says. __ara . . .__etting go of Nick, I stagger backward. My hands fly up to my mouth, covering it.Nick stops snarling at me and wags his fluffy tail.How would my dad know that it is a wolf in here and not a dog? How would he know that it isn__ pixies?I shudder. Nick pounds next to me, pressing his side against my legs. I drop my hands and plunge my fingers into his fur, burying them there, looking for something. Maybe comfort. Maybe warmth. Maybe strength. Maybe all three.
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The dead pull the living down.
With horror he perceived that, by uniting himself as he had with the dead, he had cut himself off from the living. Stripped of all earthly hope, bereft of every consolation, he was rendered as poor as mortal can possiblybe on this side of the grave.
The dead are jealous, jealous, jealous and they will do anything to keep you from the living, the lucky living. They will argue with you, and distract you, and if that doesn't work, they will even let you hug them, and dance for you, and kiss you, and laugh, anything to keep you. The dead are selfish. Jealous. Lonely. Desperate. Hungry. ("The Chambered Fruit")
I do know that for the sympathy of one living being, I would make peace with all. I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.
The Universe is alive, conscious, and aware.