By Kevin Richard White
“There was blue light. I remember that.”
He stopped. Fucking doctors want to know everything, he thought. For a long time, he said nothing. He drank some warm water. But it was alright. Everyone there had incredible patience.
“It was strangely quiet.”
He stopped once more. He needed to be able to hammer home the feeling of what it was like to slip away, even if it was brief. He embarrassed himself already by explaining that there was light, somewhere at the end of something. But it wasn’t like that at all. No, he needed something that would make it known long after this day. He thought for a long time again, drinking more warm water.
“When a lover is mad at you, that fear,” he said, “that’s how quiet it was.”
Nothing was said for a time. He drank the rest of the water. He took it all in, tried to fill back up. But nothing happened. Just like before, everyone watched.
-Ciel Qi was born in Xining, China. She studied at Soochow University and U.C. Berkeley, and currently lives in the greater Shanghai area.
Kevin Richard White is the author of the novels: The Face of a Monster and Patch of Sunlight. His work has been previously published by Akashic Books, Sundog Lit, Aji Magazine, Tahoe Writers Works, Crack The Spine, Dime Show Review, Lunch Ticket, Ghost Parachute, and Cactus Heart Press among others. He lives in Pennsylvania.