I went to Church every Sunday. Mother said I shouldn’t do anything to anger God more than I already did. Every night I read the bible, said my prays and fell asleep. At school I absorbed all the information I could. I didn’t have any friends, didn’t want God to be angry at me. But God still was, and I was getting worse and worse. Mother got angry at me more and more often. She didn’t ask how school was, or what I wanted to do when I got older, she must have realized it didn’t matter. I went back to the white room, where I was greeted by more eyes, there was something in them, but I couldn’t tell what. Someone told me, if I stayed in the white room I would get better, but God must have still been angry at me, cuz I never did.