I hardly ever get asked for an autograph. Maybe I would be more often if I sold merch. I should get some merch. Not because I want people to ask for my autograph. After my show last night, a guy with bushy sideburns and a denim shirt asked for my autograph. After I signed, he took the paper and made a big show of throwing it in the trash. He did that for no other reason than to tweak my nips. Yet if I were to pummel him bloody, I would be the one arrested. Justice is blind indeed.
I’m headed to Dothan, Alabama to meet with Stella’s mom. I don’t think I can reject her offer out of hand. The least I can do is learn more about it. Discussing premeditated murder on a blog is fine right?
Sadly I’m going to miss the National Peanut Festival at the Peanut Festival Fairground.
I’ve childishly been wishing that Stella’s spirit would appear before me like in that stupid Star Trek movie. I’d be driving and she’d be at the side of the road waving me over like that ghost hitchhiker urban legend. Only instead of asking me for my jacket, she’d say “It’s okay Grace, you don’t have to bring me back. Death isn’t the end, it’s the beginning of a new adventure.”
I thought about calling the professor to see if he could contact her. But I know what he would say. Ghosts aren’t the people we knew. They just look like them. I know what Royale would say. Don’t do it. There are lines you don’t cross ever. Not ever.
There has to be arithmetic to morality. If three fire fighters die to save a person in a burning building, no one says that’s not moral. So why is that different from killing three rapists to save a kid with cancer?
Because the firefighters chose to risk their lives. That’s the difference.
Maybe war is a better example. Drop a bomb and kill thousands to save millions?
If the deal was that I could trade my own life to bring Stella back, would I do it?
Would it be better to ask for volunteers? What if I found five terminally ill people that were willing to sacrifice themselves to bring Stella back? If I was them, I’d ask why magic couldn’t save them instead of bringing back some dead woman.
It seems so simple. Don’t do blood magic. It’s evil.
But here I am.
Gah, I referred to Grace by the wrong name! I’m the worst writer ever!