☢ Into the Light: a short story | WCE ☢

Instructions

☢ My entry ☢ “Open your eyes.” A faint ringing sounds in my ears, and I force my heavy lids open. All around me is light – light brighter than anything I could’ve imagined. But…. it’s not a harsh, cold light; rather, it radiates a warmth and steadiness that sets my heart at ease. I am lying on a hard, all-white floor that reflects my image back at me. My elbows prop me up slightly, and I glance around in confusion. Where had that mysterious voice come from? I let my gaze travel around the lit-up room. In front of me is a center point to the light that burns brighter than the rest. I shield my eyes with my hand and notice a thin paper strip around my wrist. I hold it closer to me, squinting to read the letters. They’re fuzzy and scratched out, illegible. “Child, do not be afraid. You are home now.” The voice comes again. It is neither male nor female, neither happy nor sad. Despite its lack of emotion, it sends a sense of peace and love. I belong with this thing, whatever it is. I slowly rise to my feet, eyes flicking to my reflection on the floor. My bare feet sense the icy cold of marble, yet it’s not an uncomfortable feeling. I touch the scratchy, dotted gown I wear. It is rectangular and ill-fitting, something not meant for me to be seen in. I let my fingers travel to my nose, feel the empty space where…something used to be. I’m not sure what that thing was. I only remember that I needed it…but not anymore. Here, I am healthy. I look once more at my reflection and inhale. Springing from the top of my head are long, luscious brown curls that fall below my shoulders. Tears well in my eyes as memories spring back, vision blurring. I have hair again. My hair. Not a wig. Real hair. My hand rises slowly to feel the soft fibers of my hair, and a choking laugh escapes me. This, whatever this is, must be a dream. A wonderful, spectacular, impossible dream. I will wake up to find myself in that bed, that hospital cot, once more. I will wake up to hear machines beeping, to see doctors testing. This is not – cannot – be real. “Child, why do you cry?” I look up at the light, the heavenly source, tears dripping down my cheeks. A hand reaches out and cups my face. I cannot see this person, but I know in my heart that they are someone I can trust. I lean into the warmth, closing my eyes. “Life was cruel to you, little one,” it says, pulsing with warmth. “But you can rest now.” “Rest,” I repeat in a voice barely more than a whisper. “I can…rest now.” Memories flash by. The day my family and I learned of the tumor in my brain. The tears shed. How quickly they all gave up, how soon the assumed the worst. They didn’t believe I could fight it. The doctors hadn’t believed I could fight it. So neither did I. I clasp the figure’s hand and follow as it leads me towards the light. “You don’t have to fight anymore,” it says. “Now, let me show you around your new home.”