I was the Reaper and he was the Ghost, and his soul was long overdue for collection

This is what we do. We make tea and read books and watch people die.

Forget the suffering
You caused others.
Forget the suffering
Others caused you.
The waters run and run,
Springs sparkle and are done,
You walk the earth you are forgetting.

Sometimes you hear a distant refrain.
What does it mean, you ask, who is singing?
A childlike sun grows warm.
A grandson and a great-grandson are born.
You are led by the hand once again.

The names of the rivers remain with you.
How endless those rivers seem!
Your fields lie fallow,
The city towers are not as they were.
You stand at the threshold mute.

The light was everywhere. He would tell me later I looked like an angel... but he just looked like the same devil to me

Każdy stalker był człowiekiem legendą, półbogiem, na którego wszyscy – od małych po wielkich – patrzyli w zachwycie. Kiedy dzieci rodzą się w świecie, w którym nie ma już dokąd i po co latać i żeglować, a słowa „lotnik” i „marynarz” zacierają się i stopniowo tracą swój sens, dzieci te chcą zostać stalkerami.

One cartridge. One death. Someone's life removed. 100 grams of tea cost 5 human lives. A length of sausage? Very cheap if you please, just 15 lives. Quality leather jacket, on sale today, is just 25 so you're saving 5 lives. The daily exchange at this market is equal in lives to the entire population of the metro.