Jeff Lindsay

It's always me, isn't it? I'm not really a very nice person, but for some reason it's always me that they come to with their problems.

Whatever made me the way I am left me hollow, empty inside, unable to feel. It doesn't seem like a big deal.

It was almost enough to make me feel emotion.

Really now: If you can't get me my newspaper on time, how can you expect me to refrain from killing people?

What, in all very seriousness, the hell was going on?

In its own way the kiss had been an act of murder.

It took me a moment. I blinked, and suddenly it swam into focus and I had to frown very hard to keep myself from giggling out loud like the schoolgirl Deb had accused me of being. Because he had arranged the arms and legs in letters, and the letters spelled out a single small word: BOO. The three torsos were carefully arranged below the BOO in a quarter-circle, making a cute little Halloween smile. What a scamp.

Rectory always sounded to me like a place you would find a proctologist.

In my life long study of human beings, I have found that no matter how hard they try, they have found no way yet to prevent the arrival of Monday morning. And they do try, of course, but Monday always comes, and all the drones have to scuttle back to their dreary workday lives of meaningless toin and suffering.

Feeling - what authentic human fun!

Was insanity really easier to accept than unconsciousness?

Of course it was a terrible thing, and the world would be a much better place without someone in it who could do that, but did that mean we had to miss lunch?

It really is better to be lucky than to be good.

It was clear to me that it wouldn't matter what I did - they would never truly appreciate me or learn what I had to offer. They were far beyond fickle - they were insensible, like kittens,predatory little things, distracted by the first bit of string or shiny bauble that rolled across the floor, and nothing I could ever say or do could possibly make any kind of dent in their willful ignorance.

I had become a perfect fake human, saying the stupid and pointless things that humans say to each other all day long.

Since I am not actually a real human being, my emotional responses are generally limited to what I have learned to fake.

For the first time I could remember, I felt weak, woozy and stupid_ like a human-being. Like a very small and helpless human-being.

A man can take only so much. Even a phony man like me.