Ethyl woke up in a white room, which was no surprise because Ralph, her husband, had spent the past three days painting over Justin’s deep purple. Justin was serving in Jerusalem undercover with the CIA.
The story goes that Justin was a pot head in high school, but she had never caught him with the weed. Ralph thought it was a case of teenage angst or so he claimed.
She ducked when the missile plowed through the window, shattering glass. Of course, the floor was no safer than the bed when the thing exploded, but you have to do something at a time like that.
She woke up in a white room. Bags of things were hanging everywhere and she could see the needles stuck in both arms. At least I still have eyes.