48. Colson
FORTY-EIGHT
COLSON
There are voices.
Lots of them.
Men and women.
They aren’t shouting, but they’re not whispering, either.
My head is as light as a feather. I’m moving through space, looking down on what’s happening around me, but the trippiest part of all is that my eyes aren’t even open.
I hear my name and a bunch of words that follow it.
I don’t know what they mean, but they’re there.
Floating in front of me in a galaxy of darkness.
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