Dan Andrews Quotes

Kevin didn't care who he offended and kept his eyes on Dan. "If you'll actually get the ball to us, we can do something with it." Matt looked at Andrew. "One of these days you have to let me hit him." Andrew

If you talk to the animals they will talk with you and you will know each other. If you do not talk to them, you will not know them, And what you do not know you will fear. What one fears one destroys. — Chief Dan George

We're not all bad, just so you know," Matt said [...]. "Dan hated that your first impression of us would be the do-nothings [Andrew, Aaron, Nikcy and Kevin]. She was pretty sure you wouldn't stick around long enough to meet the rest of us. [...]" "They're interesting," Neil said. "Interesting," Matt repeated. "That's the tamest description of them I've ever heard.

People always ask me "Sir Andrew Tate is it true you and your friends are the Kings Of The Internet?" I tell them of course it's true you big dummy.

Focus on making yourself feel excited, powerful. Imagine yourself destroying goals with ease.” “You have to believe that you can achieve anything.” “You can become rich, you can become strong, you can take care of your loved ones and enjoy the fact that it will be very difficult.

At the end of the day, it all comes down to how bad you freakin' want it. That's it.

Each day, we have the opportunity to learn something new, apologize for our mistakes, and become better.

Before I forget, Andrew said I could invite you to the Halloween party at Eden's Twilight. It's on the twenty-seventh." Matt dropped his sandwich back to his plate with a splat. "Bullshit." "Andrew doesn't socialize with us," Dan said. "He's making an exception," Neil said. [...] "How the hell did you talk Andrew into this?" Dan asked, staring at Neil. "I asked," Neil said. "And he agreed just like that?" Matt asked, skeptical.

They're not fast enough," Andrew said. He had to mean their defense line, so Neil said, "I know." "Are you tired?" Andrew asked. It wasn't concern, Neil knew, but that didn't make it a less confusing question. He hadn't gotten the ball often enough tonight to be tired, but he couldn't say that with Matt standing two feet away from him. "Not yet." "Then I'm taking my turn. Matt," Andrew said, and Matt turned toward them immediately. Andrew lifted a finger from his racquet to point at Neil. "We're subbing Dan for Neil and Neil for you." Matt stared. "We're what?

Andrew laughed and held up a mottled costume. "Nicky! Look! A cow. I think you should be this." "Cow tits," Nicky said, pointing at the rubber udder in disgust. "At least let me be a bull, as in hung like a. Or Matt. Same difference, right? Dan is so lucky." "I'm going to pretend I don't know you," Aaron said.

Andrew maîtrise le temps. Il assassine les secondes, nous enferme dans les minutes qui semblent durer des heures.

Life is all in the setup.

True wealth is being able to drop whatever it is your doing and go do something else or travel somewhere else without any worry.

You just get pickier. I think that's true of everything. Money, toys, girls - all the hedonistic stuff. You just raise the bar

A good Instagram account is better than day game and standing in the mall doing cold approaches.

Right near the corner was a picture Neil didn't recognize at all: a shot of Neil and Andrew standing alone. They were bundled up in their matching coats and staring each other down barely a breath apart. It took Neil a moment to place it; the people packed into the background didn't look like a game crowd. The windows finally gave it away. Dan had taken this at Upstate Regional Airport on their way to play against Texas. Neil hadn't even realized she'd been watching them. Neil had gotten caught in a couple of her group pictures, but this was the only one up that had Neil's natural looks. Dan had even caught Neil on his right side, so the bandage over his tattoo wasn't showing. This was a picture of Nathaniel Wesninski; this was the moment Neil gave Andrew his name. Neil reached out to tear the picture down but stopped as soon as he caught hold of the edge. He'd come to Palmetto State to play, but he'd also come because Kevin was proof that a real person existed behind all of his lies. In May both Nathaniel and Neil would be gone, but in June this picture would still be here. He'd be a tiny part of the Foxhole Court for years to come. It was comforting, or it should be. Neil didn't think comfort should feel like such a sick knot in his stomach.

we’re going,” andrew said, and went down the hall with kevin on his heels. “neil, this isn’t a good idea,” dan said. “i know,” neil said, and turned after kevin and andrew. - andrew, dan & neil

At Newsweek I worked for Jon Meacham, who won a Pulitzer Prize for his biography of Andrew Jackson. Here I work for a guy who brings a teddy bear to work and considers it a management innovation.

only the best for his rising stars, right?” “i didn’t think wymack recruited rising stars.” “no, the foxes will never amount to anything. try telling dan that, though, and she’ll box your ears.” - andrew & neil

What did I tell you about playing the martyr card?" Andrew asked. "You said no one wanted it," Nathaniel said. "You didn't tell me to stop." "It was implied." "I'm stupid, remember? I need things spelled out." "Shut up." "Am I at ninety-four yet?" "You are at one hundred," Andrew said. "What happened to your face?" Nathaniel swallowed hard against a rush of nausea. "A dashboard lighter." He winced at the awful sound Nicky made. The groan of a quickly-shifting mattress almost swallowed up Aaron's ragged curse. Nathaniel looked back without thinking, needing to see who was on the move, and saw Aaron had rolled off the bed to go stand with Nicky. Turning meant the others got a look at his burned cheek. Kevin recoiled so hard he slammed into the wall behind him. He clapped a protective hand over his own tattoo and Nathaniel knew he was imagining Riko's reaction to this atrocity. This time it was Dan stopping Matt from getting up, her knuckles white against his dark shirt and her head turned away. Matt started to fight free but settled for a hoarse, "Jesus, Neil. The fuck did they do to you?

Are we going to talk about this?" she asked. "You might want to avoid Aaron for a couple days." "That was already the plan," Dan said. "What the hell is going on?" "I'm doing what you asked me to do," Neil said. "I'm fixing them." "That's not what it looked like." Neil shrugged, poked his noodles, and restarted the timer. "If a bone isn't healing straight, you have no choice but to break it. They'll be fine." Matt leaned against the doorframe and arched a brow at Neil. "That's not exactly reassuring. From you 'fine' could mean anything from 'I'm going to hitchhike across the state' to 'I'm beaten to a bloody pulp but I can still hold a racquet'." "Did you bet on them?" Neil asked. Realizing Matt couldn't follow his train of thought, he said, "Aaron and Katelyn." "Everyone except Andrew bet on them," Matt said. "It's not a matter of them working out. It's a matter of when." Neil considered that. "Then they'll be fine.

Ada kecenderungan untuk meninggalkan kegagalan dan membiarkannya tertimbusdek masa.Jumlah pembelajaran yang amat banyak terbazir begitu saja kerana kegagalan tidak di kupas sepenuhnya.Jadi pembelajaran sebenar adalah apa yg dipelajari drpd kegagalan.

The mythic American character is made up of the virtues of fairness, self-reliance, toughness, and honesty. Those virtues are generally stuffed into a six-foot-tall, dark-haired, can-do kind of guy who is at once a family man, attractive to strange women, carefree, stable, realistic, and whimsical. in the lore of America, that man lives on the Great Plains. he's from Texas, Dodge City, Cheyenne, the Dakotas, or somewhere in Montana. In fact, the seedbed of this American character, from the days of de Tocqueville through Andrew Jackson, Wyattt Earp, Pony Express riders, pioneers, and cowboys to modern caricatures played by actors such as Tom Mix, Gary Cooper, and John Wayne has aways been the frontier. It's a place with plenty of room to roam, great sunsets, clear lines between right and wrong, and lots of horses. It's also a place that does not exist and never has. The truth is that there has never been much fairness out here.

Coach never explained it. Maybe he thought we'd need to grieve our disastrous losses in private. Only the best for his rising stars, right?" "I didn't think Wymack recruited rising stars," Neil said [...]. "No," Andrew agreed. "The Foxes will never amount to anything Try telling Dan that, though, and she'll box your ears.

such ingratitude. those drinks were expensive.” “i hate you.” “take a number and get in line with the rest of this team. i won’t lose any sleep over it.” “don’t sleep. i’ll kill you.” “will you? will you do it yourself, or will you pay someone else to handle the mess? you certainly have enough money to outsource it to a proper hit man. one wonders what a no one like you is doing with such a fortune.” “i found it on the sidewalk.” “really. is that why you won’t spend it, or do you just like looking like a homeless person? the team is split, you know. most of them think you’re trailer trash like dan. renee knows better. so do i. i think you’re something a little more like us.” andrew leaned toward neil and enunciated every syllable. “a runaway.” - andrew & neil

We’ve lost our way” is how another manifesto author, Andrew Hunt, put it in a 2015 essay titled “The Failure of Agile.” Hunt tells me the word agile has become “meaningless at best,” having been hijacked by “scads of vocal agile zealots” who had no idea what they were talking about. Agile has split into various camps and methodologies, with names like Large-Scale Scrum (LeSS) and Disciplined Agile Delivery (DAD). The worst flavor, Hunt tells me, is Scaled Agile Framework, or SAFe, which he and some other original manifesto authors jokingly call Shitty Agile for Enterprise. “It’s a disaster,” Hunt tells me. “I have a few consultant friends who are making big bucks cleaning up failed SAFe implementations.” SAFe is the hellspawn brainchild of a company called Scaled Agile Inc., a bunch of mad scientists whose approach consists of a nightmare world of rules and charts and configurations. SAFe itself comes in multiple configurations, which you can find on the Scaled Agile website. Each one is an abomination of corporate complexity and Rube Goldberg-esque interdependencies.

Andrew Tobias.

Andrew Hall may be positioning himself now for the next coming boom cycle, but the market will need more than the predictions of some good traders to turn around. One thing that absolutely must happen is a real and measurable leveling off of production here in the U.S. Early in the bust phase for shale, with crude prices, budgets, and rig counts collapsing, I was of the opinion that indeed, production cuts would come a whole lot sooner than either the EIA or most of the bank analysts believed was possible. But I’ve been impressed by the free flow of capital that has come in to the markets looking to ‘save’ shale oil companies from their excesses, and slowing what I thought would be a violent progression of bond defaults and outright bankruptcies. In a recent note on the state of E+P, Morgan Stanley also noted the trend, when one of its analysts, Evan Calio, wrote: “Secondary offerings have been positively received by investors as a means to shore up balance sheets and pre-fund drilling programs in light of falling crude prices. Secondary offerings remain a logical way to delever [a financial term meaning to reduce debt], but also has the potential to extend the trough rather than hasten its arrival.” (emphasis mine). In other words, there is too much money still chasing oil for a quick weeding out of the weaklings. We might see a longer period of ‘survivability’ before the real wall hits.

Je voudrais avoir le contrôle sur ma fonction mémoire. J'aimerais que Becky me laisse le choix. Certains mots ne s'effacent pas. Tapis dans l'ombre,ils attendent le bon moment pour surgir et me lacérer le coeur. Ce sont des armes terribles,surtout dans la bouche d'Andrew.

J'aimerais qu'il existe un manuel pour oublier quelqu'un en cinq étapes. j'aimerais que mon cœur ne me fasse plus souffrir. J'aimerais que Becky ne soit jamais entrée dans ma vie. J'aimerais qu'Andrew ne me manque plus autant.

At 3:45 p.m. the jurors finally began their deliberations. In the six week trial, 104 witnesses had taken the stand, 71 for Barnes, 33 for Roosevelt, and of them, 58 were former senators and assemblymen. The fully transcribed testimony, not including Judge Andrews’s charge, filled 3,738 pages. A member of Roosevelt’s defense team had even calculated that there had been a total of 934,500 words spoken in testimony—exclusive of the 252 exhibits, including letters, newspaper articles and other pieces of evidence admitted into the record. The fact that a former president would come before this jury of twelve common citizens, pictured here, created a sensation but surprised no one.

judge sits higher than the participants to mark the fact that he is above the fray. According to legend, this tradition goes back more than one thousand years, when the British king conducted the court from his raised throne. As the court system spread throughout his realm, the king’s chosen representatives served as judges, and to signify their importance they sat higher than anyone else. In addition to its practicality—the high seat enabled the judge to view the entire courtroom—it also became symbolic of the fact that the impartial keeper of the law was not a participant in the dispute. So Judge Andrews, in his soft, steady voice, decided, “I can agree with a great many of the propositions that both sides have laid down in this argument...

There’s a country that does something a little like this. Its young people, including its very best educational prospects from all different backgrounds, spend two or three years training and solving problems in a nonhierarchical environment and get together every year. Many then collaborate to start companies. This country leads the world in venture capital investments per capita (over $170, versus $75 in the United States in 2010).1 It has more companies on the NASDAQ than any non-US country except for China, despite having a population of less than eight million.2 Its quarterly gross domestic product (GDP) growth rate was above 5 percent in 2011 and it’s in the top thirty globally in per capita GDP, above Spain and Saudi Arabia, among others.3 This country is Israel, where eighteen-year-olds complete two- or three-year tours in the military, getting to know each other in highly selective military units. They operate at a high level of autonomy and responsibility and then travel the world for months before heading to college and/or grad school. In Dan Senor and Saul Singer’s book Start-up Nation, this network and training ground is credited as helping give rise to a culture of risk taking and entrepreneurship. By the time Israelis graduate from college, they’re in their midtwenties and mature; in many cases, they’ve already been in operating environments and borne life-and-death responsibilities. This cocktail of experience gives rise to a mixture of both courage and impatience. As one entrepreneur put it, “When an Israeli entrepreneur has a business idea, he will start it that week. The notion that one should accumulate credentials before launching a venture simply does not exist. . . . Too much time can only teach you what can go wrong, not what could be transformative.”4 Another observer commented, “Israelis . . .  don’t care about the social price of failure and they develop their projects regardless of the economic . . . situation.”5

You’re a good kid, Tommy,” Dan said as he stood up and walked to the door. “And you’re a good dad.” Dan felt his eyes twitch, the corners growing heavy with tears. And you’re a good dad, his son had said. You’re a good man, his wife had said. You’re a good lover, Karina had said. You’re a good liar, the glass said.

Many famous motivational speakers and influencers will tell you that you can get whatever you want in life but I will never tell you that. Do you know who else would not say that? Andrew Carnegie and John D. Rockefeller. But people love to be lied to and love entertaining fantasies, so they say I'm the one who doesn't know enough and that's why my thinking is limited. Well, have they tried to sell anything on a Chinese website or through an American or Canadian platform like Shopify? Many even tell me they plan to start their business using WordPress, which shows how ignorant they are of what their dreams need to become true. In reality, as soon as you start going through these paths you will see that you are stopped along the way. Many apps don't work in your country, and many markets are also not open to you due to location. In other cases, they claim to investigate you before deciding if you should have access to their features, while what they do is to simply look at your IP address. This happens to any industry, including the book industry.

Take your time,” Dan said. The old clockmaker laughed as he turned around and opened the cabinets behind the counter. “We don’t take time, son. Time takes us.

You’re a good man, Dan. I hope you know that,” she said in the drowsy quiet that followed. “Thanks, honey,” he said, but she heard the doubt in his voice. She looked over at him and tapped on his heart. “I mean that. The kids are lucky to have you. I am too.” A good man, murmured the glass. Or a good salesman?

With his colleagues Jason Mitchell and Dan Schacter, Andrew examined this illusory truth effect in older adults and individuals with Alzheimer’s disease.8 The participants in this experiment studied 44 ambiguous statements that were randomly assigned “true” or “false” labels, such as, “It takes 32 coffee beans to make a cup of espresso: FALSE,” and “It takes 4 hours to hard boil an ostrich egg: TRUE.” When participants were then asked which statements were true, healthy older adults correctly identified 77% of the true statements as being true, but they also identified 39% of the false statements as being true. Although this result is startling in itself, the Alzheimer’s results are even more so. Individuals with Alzheimer’s disease correctly identified 69% of the true statements as being true, but also identified 59% of the false statements as being true—more than the half you’d expect them to identify if they were just guessing. This means that if you tell an individual with Alzheimer’s that some information isn’t true, they may be more likely to remember that the information is true than if you didn’t say anything at all. The bottom line is that you should never tell an individual with Alzheimer’s what isn’t true (“Don’t take your medicine after dinner”)—just tell them what is true (“Take your medicine on an empty stomach

The journalist Dan Lyons joined a tech start-up after being downsized from Newsweek in 2012, and the experience inspired him to write a book about how Bay Area norms have infected the American workplace, Lab Rats: How Silicon Valley Made Work Miserable for the Rest of Us. Nominally egalitarian but oppressive in practice, the start-up spirit insists that everyone be super psyched about their jobs all the time. No one is actually loyal to the organziation in the sense of intending to work there for longer than five years, but what employees lack in commitment, they must make up for in enthusiasm. This mandatory passion is made worse by the smartphone. No one is every off duty anymore. The BlackBerry’s original tagline was “Always On. Always Connected.” Bizarrely, this made people want to buy it.

Pour résumer : chaque jour, je ressemblais davantage à la vieille paysanne russe attendant le train. Peu après la révolution, ou après une guerre ou une autre, la confusion règne au point que personne n'a idée de quand va pointer la nouvelle aube, et encore moins de quand va arriver le prochain train, mais la campagnarde chenue a entendu dire que celui-ci est prévu pour tantôt. Vu la taille du pays, et le désordre de ces temps, c'est une information aussi précise que toute personne douée de raison est en droit d'exiger, et puisque la vieille n'est pas moins raisonnable que quiconque, elle rassemble ses baluchons de nourriture, ainsi que tout l’attirail nécessaire au voyage, avant de se oser à côté de la voie ferrée. Quel autre moyen d'être sûre d'attraper le train que de se trouver déjà sur place lorsqu'il se présentera ? Et le seul moyen d'être là à l'instant voulu, c'est de rester là sans arrêt. Évidemment, il se peut que ce convoi n'arrive jamais, ni un autre. Cependant, sa stratégie a pris en compte jusqu'à cette éventualité : le seul moyen de savoir s'il y aura un train ou pas, c'est d'attendre suffisamment longtemps ! Combien de temps ? Qui peut le dire ? Après tout, il se peut que le train surgisse immédiatement après qu'elle a renoncé et s'en est allée, et dans ce cas, toute cette attente, si longue eût-elle été, aurait été en vain. Mouais, pas très fiable, ce plan, ricaneront certains. Mais le fait est qu'en ce monde personne ne peut être complètement sûr de rien, n'est-ce pas ? La seule certitude, c'est que pour attendre plus longtemps qu'une vieille paysanne russe, il faut savoir patienter sans fin. Au début, elle se blottit au milieu de ses baluchons, le regard en alerte afin de ne pas manquer la première volute de fumée à l'horizon. Les jours forment des semaines, les semaines des mois, les mois des années. Maintenant, la vieille femme se sent chez elle : elle sème et récolte ses modestes moissons, accomplit les tâches de chaque saison et empêche les broussailles d'envahir la voie ferrée pour que le cheminot voie bien où il devra passer. Elle n'est pas plus heureuse qu'avant, ni plus malheureuse. Chaque journée apporte son lot de petites joies et de menus chagrins. Elle conjure les souvenirs du village qu'elle a laissé derrière elle, récite les noms de ses parents proches ou éloignés. Quand vous lui demandez si le train va enfin arriver, elle se contente de sourire, de hausser les épaules et de se remettre à arracher les mauvaises herbes entre les rails. Et aux dernières nouvelles, elle est toujours là-bas, à attendre. Comme moi, elle n'est allée nulle part, finalement ; comme elle, j'ai cessé de m'énerver pour ça. Pour sûr, tout aurait été différent si elle avait pu compter sur un horaire de chemins de fer fiable, et moi sur un procès en bonne et due forme. Le plus important, c'est que, l'un comme l'autre, nous avons arrêté de nous torturer la cervelle avec des questions qui nous dépassaient, et nous nous sommes contentés de veiller sur ces mauvaises herbes. Au lieu de rêver de justice, j'espérais simplement quelques bons moments entre amis ; au lieu de réunir des preuves et de concocter des arguments, je me contentais de me régaler des bribes de juteuses nouvelles venues du monde extérieur ; au lieu de soupirer après de vastes paysages depuis longtemps hors de portée, je m'émerveillais des moindres détails, des plus intimes changements survenus dans ma cellule. Bref, j'ai conclus que je n'avais aucun pouvoir sur ce qui se passait en dehors de ma tête. Tout le reste résidait dans le giron énigmatique des dieux présentement en charge. Et lorsque j'ai enfin appris à cesser de m'en inquiéter, l'absolution ainsi conférée est arrivée avec une étonnante abondance de réconfort et de soulagement.

If you have a mind that you can't control, you're never going to be a king.

Einstein créa donc sa théorie de la relativité restreinte en 1905 et, celle-ci n'étant pas en accord avec les lois de la gravitation de Newton, il poussa ses recherches plus loin pour formuler, en 1915, sa théorie de la relativité générale qui allait jusqu'à mettre en doute les axiomes d'Euclide sur l'espace. Chez Einstein, le plus remarquable ne résidait pas dans telle ou telle expérience, seulement, comme Alan sut le comprendre, dans sa capacité à douter, à prendre ses propres idées au sérieux et à les mener à leur conclusion logique, aussi troublante qu'elle puisse paraître.

Dan Andrews of Tropical MBA53 has said that it takes 1,000 days to build a business. Launch day is just 1 out of 1,000.

As a business owner, you’ll ultimately take 100% responsibility for the direction you choose.

By allowance: “Allowance isn’t pay,” suggests Dan Nachbar, a reader who actually has kids. “Don’t link allowance to specific tasks. Work around the house is a responsibility. An allowance is a privilege. Give an allowance once a month rather than once a week. The dollar amounts will be higher, and lessons on managing your cash more real.” (A month between paydays? Yeah, right—like the kids’ union will ever accept that.

Staring into that shadow, that perfect black, Dan thought of an ocean, endless and deep. Not an ocean of water but an ocean of time. Where dense kelp forests of memory and emotion shimmered. Where abstract shapes lay dormant and asleep like bugs that waited a dozen cycles of the seasons before waking. Found you, the broken glass said as it rattled and hummed.

Your son, he doesn’t believe in Santa Claus, does he?” Dan laughed. “Tommy? No, he believes in sports. Soccer, basketball in the winter, baseball in the spring, video games in between.” “But your daughter does. She has imaginary friends, I’m guessing.” “She’s six. Of course she does.” Tamara bent down by the fireplace and reached her hand over the decorative logs. A second later she pulled away, as if burned by an invisible flame. A good actress indeed, he thought. “So, what, you think she’s being haunted by the ghost of Saint Nick?” he asked. “Did I say that?” “No, but come on. What kind of question is that?” “Remember the tea, Dan? Children, sometimes the elderly, sometimes even people of great faith, they act like conduits. Why? ’Cause they believe. Much easier to pass through a door that’s open than one that’s locked.” “What if someone doesn’t believe?” “There’s always more than one way into a house. And more than one—” Tamara snapped her head back to the foyer. Her eyes scanned the stairs, as if something silent and unseen had just run down them and into the hallway. He felt a chill pass behind him. “The painting,” she said, reaching out an arthritic finger that pointed past Dan, to the door at the end of the hallway. “It’s there, isn’t it?

I just wanted to scare him,” the girl from the painting sobbed. He felt his bladder empty warmth down his leg, and his fingers burned as if the skin had been peeled back and every nerve was being pulled by tweezers. Move, he thought. Run away. A light appeared at the doorway. Then a shadow crossed before it, eclipsing the warmth and safety of the hallway. A boy stood there, that very same boy from the painting. His clothes were filthy and wet, as if he’d been playing in a slaughterhouse. His eyes, if they could even be called that, were simple blots of darkness that stared straight at Dan.

That thing was not his wife. It was an abstraction, a vaguely feminine form that resembled Karina insomuch as a Picasso resembled a real person. Its eyes were empty black pits, as if giant thumbs had pushed them inward, leaving stretched skin sockets and shadow. There was a moment, a brief negative space between the emergence of the thing and the comprehension and horror of what it was, when the world swam in perfect clarity. To a person behind the wheel of a car, it was that silent second before glass and metal shattered and buckled. To a condemned man, that final click of the lever before the gallows dropped and the rope snapped taut. To Dan, it was the last bit of light being swallowed by the darkness as that old trunk slammed shut.

They’re real,” she said again in that hoarse voice. “They can hurt us.” “What are, sweetie? Bad dreams?” She shook her head and pointed a finger at the floor. Somehow Dan knew she wasn’t just pointing at the floor but beyond it, and the only thing he knew that lay beneath the boards of the bedroom floor was the study below. But she wasn’t pointing to the room, he thought. No, she was pointing to something in the room. She leaned in close and whispered, “First they took the old woman. Then they took Ginger. And then the girl with the skin pictures.” “Skin pictures?” “On her back,” Jessica said, and Dan felt his blood run cold. “Who? Who told you that?” “The man with the broken name,” she said as she turned over and hugged Mr. Bun. Then, as if she had answered a simple math question, she whispered, “Goodnight, Daddy.

The hands pulled at his fingers with ferocious strength, and someone shouted his name again. He didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want to let in whatever lay in the darkness beyond, but it was overpowering, a tidal surge between the cracks of his hand. Fingers pulled at his, cold and strong, breaking through his grasp, and he screamed and lashed out. Linda fell backward onto the bedroom floor. Her back connected with the edge of the bed, knocking the box spring and mattress crooked. Her nightgown was askew, hiked up above her hips from the force of the fall, her underwear exposed between splayed legs. Her face was a mask of horror. Tommy stood at the edge of the bed, just where that dark boy had stood, only Tommy was crying and covering his mouth. “You’re scaring us! Stop, please!” he gulped again and again in run-on sentences. Only Jessica was silent, unaffected by what Dan realized had been a nightmare. She combed the hair of her doll softly, as if ready to fall back asleep. “Goddammit, Dan,” Linda said, her words spat out with an indignant rage. “What’s the matter with you?

You can’t break your sister’s toys, Thomas. You know that.” And he snapped the Nintendo in half. The glass behind his eyes vibrated white hot. The two halves of the Nintendo buckled and bent until the plastic gave way in a resonating pop and the system folded the wrong way. Just like the bird, only a little harder and not as messy. He dropped the two halves back on the table, eyes never leaving Tommy, whose mouth hung open in shock and betrayal. “You… always blame me,” Tommy gasped, eyes welling with tears. “I hate you!” “You’ll get over it.” Tommy turned and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door so hard that a picture of his second-grade soccer team fell off the shelf and shattered. Like father like son, Dan thought. Even down to the flair for destruction.

Was that where he…” She hesitated, unable to finish the question. “Died,” he said, finishing it for her. “That’s where he died. Yes.” “Did you see him before that?” “Once. On my eighteenth birthday.” The room was white, Dan thought. So white and lonely. Only the buzzing of the overhead light and the psychiatrist’s pen, clicking in and out, as they stared at the silent, shackled form of his older brother. A pale visage, deathly so. A form that didn’t move but simply existed, staring slack-jawed at the corner of the room. A form that whispered “I’m sorry” in an endless loop. It was a husk, a shade, and whatever lived inside was silent and still.