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Pulled From the Flames
Layla Death is cold and empty. It’s silent. It’s lonely. I feel weightless, like I’m being carried. But there’s no sound, no feeling in my body. Just a faint, flashing light. Everyone talks about seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. Follow the light--into death. Whenever people talk of the light they follow into heaven—or in my case, it’s probably hell—I always imagined it would be bright white. Not flashing red and blue like this light. “Come on, darling. That’s it, now. Breathe deep.” Air fills my lungs–cool and rich, and my body explodes back to life. My eyes fly open, the flashing lights of half a dozen police and fire vehicles filling the space all around me, blurring my senses. “Big breath for me now,” Robert Wilson says, one of his hands cupping the back of my head a
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