In the hospital emergency corridor everything was too brilliant and I did not want to look down at my body. I could not feel it. I could not move it. The physical pain was gone.
But a horror much worse had replaced the pain. A million knives ice and fire, electrified, would have felt better.
Dead? Am I dead?
I could see and hear with such clarity. I thought of my family and the many incomplete tasks I left behind. Everything was sharp. The atoms themselves shown with lights of their own. I took no joy in this sight. I felt only primordial grief.
That was last Friday. I passed out, evidently, in the back yard.
I write this Sunday night.
I was not dead. I survived. I do not want to say more than that at this time because I am still in a too tired state.