They say
That I must learn to kill before I can feel safe.
But I
I rather kill myself than turn into their slave.
I loved AI Lipschitz more than I could possibly say. He was a real artistic guy. Sensitive. A painter. But he was always trying to find himself. He'd go out every night looking for himself, and on the way... he found Ruth, Gladys, Rosemary, and Irving. You could say we broke up because of artistic differences. He saw himself as alive... and I saw him dead.
— And because you're dying, you've just murdered four people.
— I've outlived four people. That's the most fun you can have with an aneurism.
It is easy to kill with a bow, girl. How easy it is to release the bowstring and think, it is not I, not I, it is the arrow. The blood of that boy is not on my hands. The arrow killed him, not I. But the arrow does not dream anything in the night. May you dream nothing in the night either, blue-eyed dryad.
— Okay, so that's it? You're crazy, that's your defence for killing three young men?
— No. They couldn't carry a tune to save their lives.
Imagination is a weapon. Those who lack it are the first to die.
— Oh. But Robert loves his killing. And he's the king.
— How did that ever happen?
— Because he loves his killing. And he used to be good at it.
This is what I've seen in the four weeks since infection. People killing people. Which is much what I saw in the four weeks before infection, and the four weeks before that, and before that, and as far back as I care to remember. People killing people. Which to my mind, puts us in a state of normality right now.