My Daughter, Anna, Is Almost 15, And

The Night Breathed Through The Apartment Like A Dark Animal. The Ticking Of A Clock. The Groan Of A Floorboard As He Slipped Out Of His Room. All Was Drowned By Its Silence. But Jacob Loved The Night. He Felt It On His Skin Like A Promise. Like A Cloak Woven From Freedom And Danger.

Nothing Is More Frightening Than A Fear You Cannot Name.

You Know What They Say: When People Start Burning Books They'll Soon Burn Human Beings.

Memories, So Sweet And Bitter.. They Had Both Nourished And Devoured Him For So Many Years. Until A Time Came When They Began To Fade, Turning Faint And Blurred, Only An Ache To Be Quickly Pushed Away Because It Went To Your Heart. For What Was The Use Of Remembering All You Had Lost?

My Grandmother Told Stories; She Was Very Good At That.