More life meant more death—that’s what it finally came down to. The awful fecundity of the world, the terrifyingly long reach of life and its death accompaniment seemed to him a perversion. Every birth seemed to take place within a flowering of rot….
There was no escaping it. More life meant more death, and what did it matter that your child died as long as you yourself survived?…
Friends, families meant nothing. So much death in life, so much terror of both—the mathematics were unacceptable, yet inescapable.
– Steve Rasnic Tem, Ice House Pond