Darkness. Emptiness. Surreal shapes drifted through the blackness, prickling with an electricity I could feel.
Then suddenly a ring of silent fire was burning around me, and it lit a great orange wall of light far above me. I lifted my eyes up, and I saw the tunnel of streaming light: magnetic glory.
I began to move towards the light, onwards and upwards.
But something grasped my ankle, like a dark dark nightmare. Black hands, cruel ringing laughter, whispering voices of the ghosts of millions of others hence in my circumstances, were growing up and round me like the weeds in lakes that just won't be cut or shrugged off.
I cried out for help, and a chorus of angels descended from the light end of the tunnel, shooting arrows of fire at the black daemons below. The daemons melted into their shadows, pointed tongues flicking, snaking hair writhing but they were still waiting, boding, below.
And yet the angels hovered over me, in a circlet. One reached out to my hand, but quickly drew away. A waft of victorious music from above drifted down to me, but the angels were waving me back and shaking their heads.
I thought of old John, and Samantha, and I knew I was not ready for the glorious land above the tunnels, not worthy of it, and nor was I fit for the overpowering darkness below the tunnels. I was not ready. I closed the eyes of my soul. Death was not my immediate destiny.