It was as they say; a light at the end of a long tunnel, dark and lonely. I walked towards the light. I say ‘walked’ but, in truth, I can’t remember walking, or feeling my legs for that matter. Let’s say ‘moved’. I moved towards the light. Not because I was drawn to it, particularly, like a moth towards a candle, I went to it because, in the blackness that surrounded me, there was simply nowhere else to go.
As I went though, deeper and deeper through the tunnel, I remember this feeling gaining ground inside me – hope, anticipation, excitement, even curiosity; I wanted to know what that light would show me. And so I hurried my pace, eager to reach the promised haven. Only, the brisker I moved, the slower the light approached. In fact, it felt like no matter how long I trudged, the opening remained at the exact same distance away from me. It was like one of those dreams where you walk and walk, but your feet don’t touch the ground, or everything starts to move away from you just out of your reach. I felt frustrated. I wanted to hyperventilate, but I couldn’t; I was no longer breathing.
And then it hit me. What if this was purgatory? Hell? What if this is it; doomed to walk inside a tunnel, light dangled in front of you like a carrot on a stick, but unreachable, always unreachable?
It was then that I decided that I didn’t want to die. Not if this was it.
So I woke up and there they were, my saviours, pumping on my chest, forcing salty water out of my lungs. I coughed and retched. And I swore; I, Nicholas Flamel, will find the cure to death. I, Nicholas Flamel, shall be immortal.
I hope the kind of light I used here counts.