My fingers are equally stained with blood and ink. 

The authors before you are gladiators in a deadly arena, and we are more than willing to entertain, wielding our keyboards and pens with the vicious intent to trap you into reading these stories spun through times of pain, through times of healing, and through times where we felt the craving.
You know what I'm talking about, don't you?
The itch. The itch for fictious oblivion.

Let me take you there, just for a moment.