And O there are days in this life, worth life and worth death.
- Charles Dickens
I am ashes where I was once fire.
All stories end the same way, and if you think they don’t it’s only because the narrator you’re listening to quit talking. But what choice to they have, these narrators, captaining their ships against unbearable odds? What do you want us to do? They ask. Tell them it’s hopeless?