His Name Is Legion. He Is The

Crying Was Like Pissing Everything Out On The Ground.

Once, During The Drinking Phase, Wendy Had Accused Him Of Desiring His Own Destruction But Not Possessing The Necessary Moral Fiber To Support A Full-blown Deathwish. So He Manufactured Ways In Which Other People Could Do It, Lopping A Piece At A Time Off Himself And Their Family.

Death, But Not For You, Gunslinger. Never For You. You Darkle. You Tinct. May I Be Brutally Frank? You Go On.

...writing Fiction...is No Job For Intellectual Cowards.

Say Your Name Over Two Hundred Times And Discover You Are No One.