“Sleep did not honor me with it’s presence.”

“I was not weak; I did not cry. But it hurt me, more in a kind of refreshing, thrilling way, than a kind of pain that would cripple me and send me away crying. My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands, and my teeth bit into my lips, my knees were locked, but I could not faint.”

“I did not ask for consciousness, yet it came to me.And I had to know.Once again, I crawled away from my bed and pushed the computer cord back into the socket.It took three minutes.I quickly identified myself and put in my password.Then it thought.I wanted to bounce impatiently, but I couldn’t make myself move.At last, I found the internet, and I typed in a name, on the company page, under my account.I searched ‘images’.And there, on the screen in front of me, was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up and spilling over as I stared back at the smiling face.It couldn’t be him.It was.Derek Erickson.And I was going to kill him.”

“You always say the right thingI don't remember you saying wrongYou make me laughAll the timeAlways there for me you've never been goneYou make me feel like I belongWhen I'm with you there's neverAnyone elseHold me close when I'm feeling downWhen I wake up you're still aroundWhen I am coldYou warm me upYou always smile when I'm frowningHold my hand when I'm cryingSomehow youcheer me upI'm so lucky to haveA friend like youBut somehowI want moreI'm afraid to lose youBut I can't stand toNot tell youI need you,Just a little morePerfect guyPerfect friendWhy can't you be mine?I just wantTo be a little more than friendsPerfect guyPerfect friendWhy can't you justBe mine?”

“There is pain in these eyes that you don't see. There is hurt in this heart that's killing me.”

“When a poet settled down to write a poem, could he foresee the lines he would write? Did his head constantly spin with riddles and rhymes and was his only job to put them down? What if he couldn’t get them to make sense, and no one, not even the person he cared for most, could have pleasure in reading it? What would he do?”

“I stood behind the man’s chair, my blade at his throat. “Why do you do it?” I asked, knowing he wouldn’t answer. “Kill people, and blow up buildings, and sell drugs?” It was what they all did. Committed crimes. That was why I killed them. “You’re a criminal, a terrorist, a danger. And I have been asked to take you out.” I told him. I was legend now, yet he asked the same question all the others did. “What is your name?” My sensitive ears tuned out the slit as my sword cut his neck. I walked around the chair to see his face. I watched as his eyes–slowly at first–changed from blue to milky white. His skin went pale. And as I heard him take his last breath, I ducked in so my lips hovered at his ear, and whispered, “My name, is Sharden.”