CHAPTER SEVEN. (Did I ever tell you the story of the lady and the crane?) Many times, but tell me again.
CHAPTER SIX. I’m in a room that’s not a room… full of people I can’t see. And there’s this feeling, like we’re already dead. We just don’t know it.
CHAPTER FIVE. Who teaches us to be normal when we’re one of a kind? Just promise me, if you get lost, we get lost together.
CHAPTER FOUR. How do you find the facts when memory becomes a dream? Alice went down the rabbit hole. Dorothy landed in Oz. Or did she? I was looking for the man I loved. Or did I just love the idea of him, the face he showed me? All I could do was follow the lines, pull a string. The things he’d done. The things he’d said. Who are we, if not the stories we tell ourselves?
CHAPTER ONE. I have to know. Is–? Is this–? Is this real? I mean, what if we’re back at the hospital? What if none of this ever happened, and we’re–? Please, I have to know. Are you real? I’m real. This is real. Okay?
CHAPTER THREE. You know, my doctor used to say, that the word “monster” is not a noun, that to be a monster, you’ve first got to do something monstrous.
CHAPTER TWO. You know how loud the heartbeat is? Imagine you can remember being inside your mother’s body, warm and blind, and then just this intense pressure, and suddenly… light.