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“The world is white and bright and terrifying. My head is an over-ripe watermelon, ready to burst. My eyes are stinging, and my skin burns. My limbs are heavy, as though someone has poured molten lead into my veins. I can't turn my head, can't speak, can't see beyond this white-white-white. I'm dead, just like all the other kids this epidemic has taken away. Hell is a bright light searing your retinae. Heaven is a myth. I close my eyes. Wait for the reckoning.” — Eileen Merriman
The world is white and bright and terrifying. My head is an over-ripe watermelon, ready to burst. My eyes are stinging, and my skin burns. My limbs are heavy, as though someone has poured molten lead into my veins. I can't turn my head, can't speak, can't see beyond this white-white-white. I'm dead, just like all the other kids this epidemic has taken away. Hell is a bright light searing your retinae. Heaven is a myth. I close my eyes. Wait for the reckoning.