Character: Laura Palmer

You with a gun... watch out. Those who die, as I remember the face of his killer, and death it also becomes known. Then death starts hunting for him. Takes your friends or someone from parents. Takes what you let her take. After the murder - it's like that to shake hands with death and say to her: "What is mine is yours."

Sex becomes all ominous and sinister - it is rather an act of revenge than love.

With a selfless generosity she handed out and distributed the wealth of his soul, while there, at the bottom of the basket, was no more of the fruit.

Well, we like everything, I guess. We promise to preserve your feelings forever, but retain them only as long as we ourselves do not get bored.

I trapped his own soul - in her area, which most hate.

I'm interested in is this: can the pain - not the kind you get when you have killed a cat or a dying aunt, but is this what we have to live constantly, to become... your friend? Shadow or your second self. Is it possible?

I don't trust anyone and only occasionally myself.

Now I lie here, half numb, half-burnt pain. Meanwhile, every morning I still manage to get up and leave the house - however, I have to remind myself that this is really my home. To remind, as if this location does not lead noticeable even to the naked eye blood trail.

Still see before me the smiling Laura Palmer. The girl with the perfect grades, perfect hair and perfect little fingers that want to sometimes, late at night, to get into the mirror and strangle the source of all my woes - the dreamer, whose reflection do I see there!

I offered him my hand and thanked for the fact that he didn't kill me. It would be my whole evening ruined.

You are looking through his eyes, and he was gone.

Under closed eyelids quickly moving their eyes. Which see nothing.

And the light gives way to darkness, to return when his time will come.

And now, knowing what he wants a rat in my dream I took a bite out of his foot myself.