Blind Instinct

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Below London, England, in an underground catacomb September 4, 2000-Approaching true millennium

She could not remember her own name, not even when the man who'd brought her to this excruciating moment-to die here-chanted her name in her bleeding ears. Neither could she recall her very sex, age, race, or religion, for the burning, searing pain washed so completely over her mind and blotted out all clarity of thought. Clarity ran before this blinding pain, banished from the realm of consciousness, sending the angels of specificity and nouns and adjectives spiraling away from this place. Now on the brink of death, she felt utter disappointment, having all her life believed that when she looked into the eye of death, that she'd find some answers to life's grandest questions: Who am I? What am I? Where am I? Where have I been, and where do I go?

If there were answers, they remained blurred, dulled, and finally lost to the pain of this death-the pain of a crucifixion death… Not even St. Michael and all his legion can help me now, she realized. Or had he said that in her ear? Bile and spit and gall. 1 must prepare myself to sleep, prepare to sleep forever. Answers and resolutions all blurred.

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