In my local writer’s group recently, we had a writing exercise. We were challenged to write a piece from the point of view of a person trapped in a coma. The following is my result.
Encircled in darkness, I despair. The dimness penetrates deep within me. Yet in the distance, I catch a peripheral glimpse of a light. It’s not like a far off point of light, but a general ambient glare that permeates the blackness. It is as if I’m locked within a luminous cloud of red amber gas and dark gray dust. It refuses to clear and leaves everything blurred.
I hear the mumblings of an old prophet. I almost know him, yet not. He’s waiting at the gate. His gusts of prophetic wind blow mercilessly, but I can’t quite make out what he is saying. It seems as if I should think his words important, but they avoid my ears unheeded.
The vague form of a face emerges from the void. I reach to focus but only the shrouds of a death mask connect with my enveloped eyes. Their indistinct contours tumble and grow almost into view before broiling back away from my afflicted sight.
Adrift in an uneasy haze, I stretch my mind to the utter reaches of the abyss, and find nothing to greet me there. Weariness weighs heavy on my soul, and I know not why. The despondency of apathy envelopes me. It leaves me unable to grasp any given moment, obscuring every instant into one another. I long for a clarity I scarcely remember, and wonder will it ever return? Did it ever really exist, or was it an illusion even when I thought I once had it?
That is just too freaking cool. That picture freaked me out a bit too 
sorry that was supposed to be the Chronicles of Narnia. I am trying to type with a very active baby on my lap. Great story.
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