There've Been A Lot More People Hurt

This World Belongs To The Strong, My Friend! The Ritual Of Our Existence Is Based On The Strong Getting Stronger By Devouring The Weak. We Must Face Up To This. No More Than Right That It Should Be This Way. We Must Learn To Accept It As A Law Of The Natural World. The Rabbits Accept Their Role In The Ritual And Recognize The Wolf As The Strong. In Defense, The Rabbit Becomes Sly And Frightened And Elusive And He Digs Holes And Hides When The Wolf Is About. And He Endures, He Goes On. He Knows His Place. He Most Certainly Doesn't Challenge The Wolf To Combat. Now, Would That Be Wise? Would It?

They Did Type Me As A Horror Writer, But I Have Been Able To Do All Sorts Of Things Within That Framework.

He Was In His Chair In The Corner, Resting A Second Before He Came Out For The Next Round -- In A Long Line Of Next Rounds. The Thing He Was Fighting, You Couldn't Whip It For Good. All You Could Do Was Keep On Whipping It, Till You Couldn't Come Out Anymore And Somebody Else Had To Take Your Place.

I Listened To Them Fade Away Till All I Could Hear Was My Memory Of The Sound.

The Flock Gets Sight Of A Spot Of Blood On Some Chicken And They All Go To Peckin' At It, See, Till They Rip The Chicken To Shreds, Blood And Bones And Feathers. But Usually A Couple Of The Flock Gets Spotted In The Fracas, Then It's Their Turn. And A Few More Gets Spots And Gets Pecked To Death, And More And More. Oh, A Peckin' Party Can Wipe Out The Whole Flock In A Matter Of A Few Hours, Buddy, I Seen It. A Mighty Awesome Sight. The Only Way To Prevent It—with Chickens—is To Clip Blinders On Them. So's They Can't See.