Preface

The Lord answered,
"Bring me a heifer, three years old,
a she-goat, three years old,
a ram three years old, a turtle dove
and a young pigeon."

Genesis
15: 9

I'd never given much thought to how I would die – I mean, pretty emo shit, right? – but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this.
I stared without breathing across the room, into the dark eyes of the hunter, and he looked pleasantly back at me.
Surely it was a good way to die, like, there are worse ways to take the last flight out of Denver
international, ya know? It's not as cool as getting eaten by a shark or saving somebody's grandma from a burning building, but at least it's not like rabies or sepsis or that thing that pirates get because they don't eat oranges. Then there's that wasp that, like, paralyses the shit out of a caterpillar and lays her eggs in 'im, and when the wasplings hatch they eat the poor guy from the inside out.
Fucked up, right?
Anywho, I knew that if I'd never gone to Forks, I wouldn't be facing death right now. But, terrified as I was, I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision. It's like, when life offers you lemons, not the normal sour-ass kind, but like, really awesome lemons that grant wishes and fly around with jet-packs, you don't throw those awesome-ass lemons back in life's face. You treasure the hell outta those lemons, and when those lemons fly away on an adventure of their own, you don't tear 'em down for wanting to be their own mother-fucking lemons and to stand on their own citrus-y feet, you wish 'em good luck and just be happy for all the laughs you guys shared as bros.
The hunter smiled, friendly fucker, as he sauntered forward to kill me.