FWJ # 7 '...They were only half open and heavy, but her eyelids still made each blink seem effortless. She'd woken up late after the weirdest dream...'
FWJ #5 '..But in quiet moments his compulsion is not to count. In quiet moments he flicks the tips of each finger on his left hand, as fast as he can...'
FWJ #4 '..A memory of light, and love, and happiness. But that light burned out a long time ago, taking the love with it, and slowly seeping out the happiness, pulling it down into its ash filled crater...'