This, she realizes, is the basis of all fear. That a light you are powerless to stop will turn on you and usher a bullet to its mark.

Light, with its handmaiden color, was everywhere.

Think of it like electricity. Before the invention of the light bulb, most people weren't aware of electricity's existence. It was still here, exactly the same way it is right now, but we hadn't yet woken up to it. It took the invention of the light bulb to bring it to our attention. We had to understand how to manifest it into our reality.

If your hate could be turned into electricity, it would light up the whole world.

It's time. You are light. I guess you are afraid of what everyone is made of — Time and Light.

She too was standing in the lamp’s raw light. Her cheeks looked hollow, her lips too red, too bold.

Everything was made bright by her. She was the smile that shed light all around her.

Electricity is really just organized lightning

And she was blinded by the light. Cut loose like a deuce, Another runner in the night. Blinded by the light. She got down but she never got tight, but she'll make it alright.

The ghost of electricity howls in the bones of her face

The ghost of electricity howls in the bones of her face.

How like a mirror, her face. Impossible; for how many people did you know who refracted your own light to you? People were more often - he searched for a simile, found one in his work - torches, blazing away until they whiffed out. How rarely did other people's faces take of you and throw back to you your own expression, your own innermost trembling thought?

If you go near her or touch her with your finger, a spark will light up the room and either kill you on the spot or electrify you for your whole life with a magnetically attractive, plaintive craving and sorrow.

He glanced back at the wall. How like a mirror, too, her face. Impossible; for how many people did you know who reflected your own light to you? People were more often — he searched for a simile, found one in his work — torches, blazing away until they whiffed out. How rarely did other people's faces take of you and throw back to you your own expression, your own innermost trembling thought?