A surfeiting of terror soon made terror a cliché.
A surfeiting of terror soon made terror a cliché.
After a while, though, even the deepest sorrow faltered, even the most penetrating despair lost its scalpel edge.
All right, little boy, he tried kidding himself, calm down now. Santa Claus is coming to town with all the nice answers. No longer will you be a weird Robinson Crusoe, imprisoned on an island of night surrounded by oceans of death.
And, before science had caught up with the legend, the legend had swallowed science and everything.
But it was hard to keep his hands still. He could almost feel them twitching emphatically with his strong desire to reach out and stroke the dog's head. He had such a terrible yearning to love something again, and the dog was such a beautiful ugly dog.
Everything seemed to flood over him then. It was as though he'd been the little Dutch boy with his finger in the dike, refusing to let the sea of reason in.
He turned away from the bar as if he could leave the question there. But questions had no location; they could follow him around.
I don the robe of hermit without a cry.
In a typical desperation for quick answers, easily understood, people had turned to primitive worship as the solution. With less than success. Not only had they died as quickly as the rest of the people, but they had died with terror in their hearts, with a mortal dread flowing in their very veins.
Let the jagged edge of sobriety be now dulled.
Now when I die, I shall only be dead.
That's what was wrong with drinking too much. You became immune to drunken delights. There was no solace in liquor. Before you got happy, you collapsed.
The foraging for food and water, the struggle for life in a world without masters, housed in a body that man had made dependent on himself.
The vampire was real. It was only that his true story had never been told.
When Morton Silkline reached the hall, his customer was just flapping out a small window. Quite suddenly, Morton Silkline found the floor.
A man could get used to anything if he had to.
You bastard, he thought, almost affectionately, watching the minuscule protoplasm fluttering on the slide. You dirty little bastard.
I think there are other places where we need to spend money.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories