Seconds tick into hours, morph into weeks and slowly but surely pool into decades.  

"Mom!" I call, "where are you?"  And my voice finds no one. 

I start to walk.  I walk for seconds, for decades, but all I see is white.  

For some, heaven is white on white, representing all the truth they wish they had spoken.  For me, hell is white.  Brilliant white, glaring brightness.  

My legs tire, grow numb.  The only thing that keeps me going is sheer determination, a tugging at my heartstrings.  

When I step out of that field of snow, that white prison, my cheeks are red but my hell is white.  

And no one welcomes me home.