He once again floated, the exchange of memory taking place before him bewildering him. For a fraction of a second, he knew that he had two names and two lives. Then, he was no longer Maroon. He began to remember more and more. There was the show, the bullies, the rope.
So he had not died? Was this some sort of place of transition? Some place close to death? Someplace between lives? Within a life? Was he going back? Had he made it, or was he truly dead?
The light reappeared, this time much less bright. This probably meant that he had made it, if not barely. Two memories alighted by him and spoke their truths. They were the first and last memories of his second life. All you wanted was love. You got the love you wanted.
As the soft light begin to lengthen into a crack, a tear in the dark fabric, he began to worry. If I am going back, does that mean that I will once again be without love? Will it go away?
As there became more light, the crack widened and formed a picture, a ceiling. He returned to his former life, still eleven, surrounded by plushies. The more he recovered, the more he found out about the movement, the more he realized that the love hadn't gone away.