On the horizon, we saw his figure.
Distant, looming.
Ominous
I wasn't worried about myself. I wasn't worried about the children, at least, not mine. They'd learned to think long before this day, and I was proud of all the things we'd taught each other.
I was worried about the screamers.
The people who write articles about the outrage of popular culture, of the silliness that unfunky crackers get themselves into when they pick up listening to Outkast and start packing heat, the people who would call me on the phone when they saw nudity on the television to tell me how shameful it was scared me more than anything else.
The human body isn't shameful, people like you are.
Death happens, we can't avoid it, and people can only prolong it, prepare for it, and accept it. There's no use crying when someone's end is inevitable. Everyone in this house would accept, though not welcome death, and I think that's how I want it to be.
How I'll rue this day
Not worried, but displeased with the prospect. I watch this figure crest the hill. He's coming to my house.
Once again, he wants to sell me cable...