February 12, 2012

Small Lines I Left Behind

I cut out too much of A Wall for Zombies. Falling in line with "show and don't tell," I scrapped the following lines (and now I regret it):
  • It is in this chasm of apathy that one finds a space for normalcy and perhaps even a little joy. Without it, Mercy herself would crush us all and we would spend our days feeling guilty for every unnecessary breath.
  • It seemed to Mike that the greatest gift one could give a child was a freshly-cut lie. A bouquet of wilting flowers, but a bouquet nonetheless. "Even a grown man could use a few fresh flowers every once in awhile," he muttered to himself.
  • Mike caught hints of the upcoming doom, but he was preoccupied with the urgent. So a few soldiers were snooping around the air conditioning ducts. He had to figure out the best way to time lunchtime and nap time so that he might be able to squeeze in some time for light reading.
  • Just as he had done with the starving kids on the late-night programming, he had learned to push tragedy away. After all, growing up was simply this: losing your imagination in return for a little less anxiety. The only way he knew of facing his fear of the dark was to believe that darkness had never existed in the first place.
  • The Ancients would have you believe that a tragedy revolves around the fall of a great man, but the linguist recognized for the first time ever, that the greatest tragedy is the frailty and finality of life.

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