“As he walked he noted the sun setting over the old oaks and walnut trees, leaves cast in autumn, the golden light turning to orange as the shadows of the street deepened.”

“He was the god of drink and madness. He was never the best of the Olympians. But, he was the last of them.“

“It was the smell of graveyards, of freshly dug dirt. It was not the smell of the dead, but the act of casting the form aside.”

“The three figures approached, rainwater and alcohol dripping down their beards, their jovial chuckling audible even above the rain.”

“Underneath the hat was a gray, pruney skinned fiend, his eyes the color of blood and his teeth like needles.”

“She rushed for her gun as it rushed at her, its teeth and claws launching for her neck. She fell back, reeling, offering up an arm. A leg. Anything but her neck.”

“They spilled into the hills around the city. I could hear their screams.”

“An overweight, balding satyr stumbled over, his hoofs clumsily moving about the throngs of flesh.”

“It was hard for him to see the sun rise and not think of his half brother. He knew he was up there. Burning.”

“He hadn't thought about what had happened for a long time. He hadn't wanted to think of what had happened.”

“…found it increasingly hard to breathe, as he fought against what he knew he wanted more than anything.”

“The room was sparsely occupied, the old, grizzled bartender rubbing a glass, most likely to pass the time more than to keep it looking clean.”

“…he was aware of the sound of approaching footfalls in the woods beyond the sand, then on the sand, ending with the sensation of cool steel on the back of his neck.”

“…through the headache the memories of the night before came to him.
Last night there had been a woman. “