“Not at me, not at Sam, not at anything. The ventilator was gone; the heart monitor's endless beat had stopped. A thin plastic tube was taped to the side of her head below the bandages; it slid into one nostril. The swelling had reduced, and reds and blacks seeped across her face beneath the olive skin. A round plastic mount for a non-existent drip bulged out of her wrist, swathed in grey surgical tape. Beneath it, I knew, a needle sank deep into her, and the thought made me cringe. But ...it was the eyes. I couldn't help but search them for a blink, for the flick of a glance, the subtlest movement in the iris or the lids, a narrowing so slight that you were never even aware; the person behind them, the life. I tried to smile at her empty face. I crouched beside the bed, in the line of her not-really-sight, and spun the zoetrope for her. It flickered in the corner of my vision, vivid green, bright warm light, Verity turning round and round and round, screaming with delight—and as she was now, eyes lolled, drool trickling thickly from her mouth.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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