This Is The End Of Our Sentence

It's Hard For Me To Believe That A Shy, Bespectacled College Graduate Like Brad Meltzer Who's A Novelist And A Father Is A Really Setting Out To Be Weirdly Misogynistic.

All I Know Is That You Won't Come Back Until They're All Dead. 'eternity.' Every Last One Of Them. Every Man. Every Woman. Every Child. Global Massacre. I Dream About That Day. A Planet Of Corpses

In The World Of The Superheroes, Everything Had Value, Potential, Mystery. Any Person, Thing, Or Object Could Be Drafted Into Service In The Struggle Against Darkness And Evil - Remade As A Weapon Or A Warrior Or A Superhero. Even A Little Bee Named Michael - After God's Own Avenging Angel - Could Pitch In To Win The Battle Against Wickedness.

I Write Every Day, For Most Of The Day, So It's Just About Turning Into Metaphor Whatever's Going On In My Life, In The World, And In My Head. Every Nightmare, Every Moment Of Grief Or Joy Or Failure, Is A Moment I Can Convert Into Cash Via Words. I Use Everything. Turning Life Into Stories Is How I Make Sense Of My Experience.

He Felt The Hot Impact Of Bullets. He Heard The Sound Of Chopping Meat. He Thought 'is That Me?' . . . And Then He Opened His Eyes.