The moment I had wrested some life from the encroaching tendrils of death, I had leapt from my coffin and thrown myself through the window. I do not know; if I had broken my neck in the fall, that was a death that could save me from death. Defenestration, even if it had been from a mighty tower, a plunge, even into the spears of a raging horde, was not so dreadful as the living death from whose mouth I fled. Flight was not enough; escape was the thing, and a broken neck was sufficient; to lie still was damnation.
Psst! Hey kid, wanna buy a book?
