Fear in a handful of dust.

If I know one thing, I know this.

The dead cannot pass for living.

It is a strange and distracting thing, the giving and taking of life. Almost to an annoying degree, one could propose. I dare say it distracted me for eleven years, and even more acutely these last few weeks when the life in question was my own.

It probably shouldn't concern us living as much as it does, considering the universe is more than a little flip about the whole ordeal.

But He is never flip. His methods are never random. It took a rather sharp reminder for me to realise, finally, that life is the Lord's to give and to take away. The weak may question it, even run from it, but our doubt will never change it. Our doubt or our actions.

I see clearly now. His mercies fall where He wills them to fall. And tonight they have fallen on me.

Most of me, anyway.


Narcissa, would you be a dear and visit me at my mother's? She is still screaming, but I expect the tone to take an affectionate turn within the hour. Followed shortly by at least a week of injured silence. Any time will be fine.