Rage, Rage, Against the Dying of the Light

The bright light surrounded him. It was brilliantly white, whiter than anything he had ever seen before. It was so white he could feel it. He'd never felt light before.

In that moment, he examined his hands, palms first. He then brought them up to his face and scrubbed it. He felt the unaccustomed pressure as his fingers pressed roughly into his eyes. He could feel the pressure. He rejoiced in feeling something, anything, again. He could even feel the light. And it didn't hurt. Not until it started to die away into eternal darkness.


"Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" - Dylan Thomas