It rose until it shrank to the size of a postage stamp, white and bright, everything around it blotted out by the shuttered darkness.
In the dark, Rasheed's face was like a sunspot. Brief little bursts of blinding light before her eyes now, like silver stars exploding.
Bizarre geometric forms in the light, worms, egg-shaped things, moving up and down, sideways,
melting into each other, breaking apart, morphing into something else, then fading, giving way to blackness.
Voices muffled and distant. Behind the lids of her eyes, her children's faces flared and fizzled.
Aziza, alert and burdened, knowing, secretive. Zalmai, looking up at his father with quivering eagerness.
It would end like this, then, Laila thought. What a pitiable end. But then the darkness began to lift.
She had a sensation of rising up, of being hoisted up.
The ceiling slowly came back, expanded, and now Laila could make out the crack again, and it was the same old dull smile.
She was being shaken. “Are you all right? Answer me, are you all right?”
Mariam's face, engraved with scratches, heavy with worry, hovered over Laila.
Laila tried a breath. It burned her throat. She tried another.
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