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I missed that laugh. Even now, when I could see only part of it, it was like a supernova in a vacuum of dead stars.

We all tell stories when we can't face the truth.

She cannot turn on the light. In the light, the people in the stairwell will no longer be visible—and not seeing them, while knowing they're there, is worse than seeing them.

Why are people born into this world? That's easy. So they'll have a story to tell. Some of us die before the story ends, some of us die long after the story has ended, and some of us die right at the very start.

‘They’ll die and the world will keep on like they’d never been around. They made a difference? The world kept moving on. They sat on their backside and did nothing? The world kept moving on.’ She turns to one side, leans on an elbow. ‘Parents die. Does the world stop and cry its eyes out? No. It spins the way it always does.’