The last time Clara died, she ended up in a room devoid of stimulus and bathed in blinding white light… it might have driven me batty…
Like the last time since falling into the bubble in space and time, her senses recovered at different rates. The sound filtering through her ears was like being underwater as a concert went on above. It was distorted, and as her mind reconnected with her vision everything before her was blurry… It’s like I’m spifflicated while trapped in a gallery of Impressionist art…
Disclaimer: This novel is an work in progress and readers may encounter grammatical errors and inconsistencies. Please view this a draft and not a published work.
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