THE METAL MONK by Matt Barton
Jacob drew steel, the sound echoing through the tavern and drawing every pair of eyes. Zane’s face went stony for a moment, but then avalanched into laughter and mirth. “You’d kill me, then, monk?” spat Zane. “You must have forgotten your own book. ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ I’m not afraid of your threats.” The drunken brawler suddenly pulled two...
Ferris: He’s had one job all his life, and he’s really proud of that. He’s always saying he’s just an ordinary working man.
Maia: That’s nice.
Ferris: Do you think so?
Maia: I don’t know. I better go home to my dad. He needs my help.
Maia: What do you mean “yeah”? You don’t know anything about my dad!
Ferris: You just said he needed help. It was just a response, like, yeah. What’s wrong with you?
Maia: Nothing… I can let you borrow the book when I’m done.
Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven.– Tryon Edwards
Naomi: Your grandmother told me to go without her. Her legs were weak. We both knew she would die if she stayed. But there was no time.
Maia: I don’t remember Grandma.
Naomi: You were just a baby, Maia.
Maia: Tell me something about her.
Naomi: It was a cold day, colder than most severe winter days. Water was right behind her, moving like a demon, the raging tide.
Maia: No, something about Grandma.
Naomi: She stayed still under the kitchen table. She could smell the salt closing in around her. Her eyes were closed.
Maia: You didn’t see any of this, Mother.
Every parting gives a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of the...– Arthur Schopenhauer