Judge Not, Lest Ye Be Judged.

There Was Something About The Island That Made The Girls Forget Who They Had Been. All Those Rules And Shalt Nots. They Were No Longer Waiting For Some Arbitrary Grade. They Were No Longer Performing. Waiting. Hoping. They Were Becoming. They Were.

In This Man’s Smile Was All The Unfairness Of The World In Its Thuggish Seduction. “just Come With Me. We’ll Take Care Of You.” “no, You Won’t.” Taylor Stroked The Man’s Cheek. She Reached Her Arms Up To Cradle The Back Of His Head And, With The Skill Of A Champion, She Broke His Neck. Then She Dragged Him Into The Bushes, Took His Gun And Walkie-talkie, And Kept Moving.

The World Is A Lie...not You And Me.

A Man Bumps Me On His Busy Way Without So Much As An Apology. But That Is All Right. I Forgive You, Busy Man About Town With The Sharp Elbows. Hail And Farewell To You! For I, Gemma Doyle, Am To Have A Splendid Christmas In London Town. All Shall Be Well. God Rest Us Merry Gentlemen. And Gentlewomen.

Perhaps This Is How Girls Fall -- Not In Some Crime Of Enchantment At The Hands Of A Wicked Ne'er-do-well, A Grand Before And After In Which They Are Innocent Victims Who Have No Say In The Matter. Perhaps They Simply Are Kissed And Want To Kiss Back. Perhaps They Even Kiss First. And Why Should They Not?