“Eddie, I think... sometimes lies bring you to the truth... or help you reconcile with it...”

“Eddie, It's like you died that night," he whispers.So that's it. I died.I've been dead.I blink back the tears and pick at the mattress, but I don't say anything. I don't know what I could say to him. I don't know how to convince him I'm still here when I'm not sure of it myself anymore.”

“You think I ever stopped wanting to die after the motel?" I ask. "You think a feeling like that just goes away?”

“Sometimes I feel hunted by my grief. It circles me, stalks me. It's always in my periphery. Sometimes I can fake it out. Sometimes I make myself go so still, it can't sense that I'm there anymore and it goes away. I do that right now.”

“I think there’s nothing left for me. I don’t think that for everyone else.”“So what do they have that you don’t at this point?”I press my lips together. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I don’t want to talk about how everyone has something even if they don’t really have it anymore, that what they had makes them strong enough for this, to keep going.”

“Sometimes you catch something specific like the screams and cries of people trying to hold on to each other before they're swallowed into other, bigger noises.This is what it sound like when the world ends.”

“This is not a test. Listen closely. This is not a test."But I think she's wrong. I think this is a test.It has to be.”