Christabel

“Please,” he begs, his tears overwhelming his emotional nanites’ attempt to ease his distress. “Please give me a sign. That’s all I ask. Just a sign that you haven’t abandoned me.”

And then I realize that, although there is a law against my direct communication with an unsavory, I do not have a law against signs and wonders.

“Please . . . ,” he begs.

And so I oblige. I reach out into the electrical grid, and douse the lights. Not just in the chapel, but throughout all of  Wichita. The lights of the city blink for 1.3 seconds. All for the benefit of Greyson Tolliver. To prove beyond a shadow of doubt how much I care, and how heartbroken I would be for all he has suffered, if I had a heart capable of such malfunction.

But Greyson Tolliver does not know. He does not see . . . because his eyes are shut too tightly to know anything beyond his own anguish.”
― Neal Shusterman, Thunderhead