We would be outnumbered a couple hundred to two, by something worse than Erasers. I had no idea if the rest of the Flock would be able to help.
It was pretty much a suicide mission.
Again.
"There is one bright side to this," said Fang.
"Yeah? What's that?" The new and improved Erasers would mutilate us before they killed us?
He grinned at me so unexpectedly that I forgot to flap for a second and dropped several feet. "You loooove me," he crooned smugly. Holding his arms out wide, he added, "You love me this much."
My shriek of appalled rage could probably be heard in California, or maybe Hawaii.
About author
- Author's profession: Author
- Nationality: american
- Born: March 22, 1947
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Who but the artist has the power to open man up, to set free the imagination? The others - priest, teacher, saint, statesman, warrior - hold us to the path of history. They keep us chained to the rock, that the vultures may eat out our hearts. It is the artist who has the courage to go against the crowd; he is the unrecognized "hero of our time" - and of all time.
Henry Miller