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Sharp as rust...

There's that awful taste again, sharp as rust, wrapping around my tongue.
Worse, I'm no longer alone.
Impossible.
Not impossible.
This time it's human.
Maybe not.
Extremely long fingers.
A sucking sound too. Sucking on teeth, teeth already torn from the gums.
I don't know how I know this.
But it's already too late, I've seen the eyes. The eyes. They have no whites. I haven't seen this. The way they glisten they glisten red. Then it begins reaching for me, slowing unfolding itself out of the corner, mad meat all of it, but I understand. These eyes are full of blood.
Except I'm only looking at shadows and shelves.
Of course, I'm alone.
And then behind me, the door closes.

-Mark Z. Danielewski

From beyond the grave

My sophomore year of college, I took a History class at San Antonio College. The class required that I read the autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. The book was made available in the school bookstore and I purchased and read the book so I could write the required paper for the class. The book wasn't expensive. It was only $20 or so, but the real kicker came when the semester was over. I took my books back to the book store for buybacks and I was told they weren't buying back the Ben Franklin autobiography...

When I asked the attendant why they were not buying it back, he replied "because next year we'll be carrying a new edition."

Yeah. A new edition of Ben Franklin's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. I asked him if it was going to have a forward by Abraham Lincoln, but all I got in return was a blank stare.

How much updated material could one possibly get out of a dead guy?

Further proof that University book stores and publishers are just out to make a buck.