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Death is a ticket already punched - eventually, you start taking just the teensiest bit of pride in your locale. Yeah, you think. I’m a bad motherfucker. These are my people. We, the damned.

“Every inch you gained in flight is an inch added to the fall. That’s why, when you’re flat-backed on the belt, we don’t cut the love out.”

“Love tortures you more than we ever could.”

You know that worried feeling? That feeling in your gut all the time, no matter the quality or intention of your company, like your safety is a gift from the men around you, not a right?” “This right here,” patting the gun affectionately. “For a minute, this will make that feeling go away.” Even the best man comes with strength and stature to remind a woman that every time he doesn’t hurt her is a favor.

On the Second Floor, the one kindness we ever showed the people on the belt was during break… It was then that we would hold the base of their skulls… and pour slowly into their mouths cold, clean water. Our only relief was also our erasure. It was brilliant and cruel and completely our brand. Maybe the water is Hell’s clumsy attempt at mercy.

“DON’T DRINK THE WATER!”

“The water from the river Lethe makes everyone in Hell forget where they came from, who they are. Everything.”

She was enraged with herself. But by then, she was gone, too, the death certificate saying ovarian cancer but Silas knowing it was the rage that killed her: she grew those tumors like teeth to eat herself alive.