[1;40;37m  
FINAL LIGHT
  by Stephen Kunc
[1;40;31m
  Her lightning eyes shot darts of steel from their retinae, 
as she rode.

  The landscape yielded to the hooves, but still she urged the beast 
onwards. A driving force was rising within her, from somewhere deep and 
intangible, yet real. She could feel it, enveloping her inner-self, 
caressing her very soul and it stung her with its fiery whip, lashing at 
her and carving the path which she must follow. There was no denying it 
-- she realized.

  The mane of her stallion trailed back behind the horse's powerful neck. 
She gripped the reins with a ferocity that she knew was not her own, yet 
still it was her own hands that wielded it. Her hair, long and red, 
flowed behind in waves as each pair of legs pounded into the ground, 
biting into the sand. Powerful calves and thighs gripped at the flanks of 
her steed and her feet were planted firmly in the stirrups. Moving 
majestically with the beast, pushing forward as it dove, relaxing as it 
leapt, they created the perfect symbiosis between them. The animal became
part of her, an extension which tamed at her touch, melted under her gaze.

  Away they ran, leaving only a trail of hoof-prints in the sand as the 
sunset dropped behind them. Faster the stallion sped towards their 
destination as she leaned along the saddle, defying the wind to prevail 
against them. In her heart, the entity that controlled her stroked her 
with praise. She basked in its warmth and welcomed its sinister touch. 
Its electric pulses shivered up her spine and she thrilled at the ecstasy 
of its invisible -- striking tongue.

  "Oh dear," the woman mumbled, concerned as she lifted her 
hand from the small girl's forehead. She gently pulled the 
thermometer from between the lips of the child and shook it in 
the air. As she did so, the girl shivered under the sheets and 
blankets of her bed. She muttered the incoherencies of sleep and 
immediately the woman put her ear to the girl's mouth. "Frank," 
she called into the living room.

  Frank had to bend his head to avoid the dangling artwork as he
entered through the bedroom doorway. Seeing it lead to the 
fleeting memory of his daughter hunched over the kitchen table 
with her crayon set, colouring the pictures she had drawn. Though 
he tried to ignore them, he couldn't help seeing the decorations 
that affronted him as he entered. The pink elephants on her wall-
paper, the dressed-up dolls on her shelves, the snow that fell 
past the window contrasted the sight of his daughter lying fevered 
in the bed. His face revealed what he thought -- he knew.

  "I phoned, they're on their way," he said to the woman who sat
on the bed. She turned her head back to her daughter's worried
face and tried to pat the bed sheets down around her neck.

  "Frank?" she asked, her voice relaying her thoughts more than
her words ever could. She looked up to the window and the snow
tumbling idly by; some of the flakes stuck to the glass and
melted there, turning into drops and trailing down. Others
passed by, looking in for that brief moment as they fell to the
ground. The sound of wheels rolling into the driveway broke her
concentration and Frank left the room. Again the woman patted
down the sheets around the girl, as though she couldn't do it
enough, and, wishing a silent prayer, she kissed her daughter's
forehead. A tear dripped from her eyes as the girl choked a weak
cough.

  Frank lead the men with their stretcher past the Christmas 
tree and up the stairs. He tried to push the thoughts of the 
unopened gifts that lay around it out of his mind as he pointed 
the men into the bedroom. The woman was on her feet when they 
entered and she nodded an uninspired greeting.

  "G'day Ma'am," offered one of the men, nodding also as he
helped his partner ready the stretcher. The woman had gathered
her child in her arms and now she laid her on the cart
reluctantly. Tears filled her eyes again and she brushed them
away with her sleeve.

  The men carried the stretcher out and down the steps, outside. 
A metallic frame dropped from under it and rubber wheels hit the
snow. One of the men opened the back doors of the ambulance as
the woman rushed out the front door, her coat flapping to the
side as she ran. She climbed into the back with the girl and the
doors were slammed shut.

  Inside the house, Frank looked out from between the curtains
until the ambulance had disappeared from view. Sitting down on
the sofa, he couldn't resist the urge to push back one of the
folded tags on the presents with his slipper. "To Kathy from
Santa," the tag read and instantly he regretted having done so.

  Her eyes, now crystal blue, toyed with the night as she rode.

  The wind, increasing in force, streaked along the sides of her naked 
body as she whisked towards its source. Her stallion, tiring from the 
journey laboured to keep the pace which she set. Saliva spewed from its 
mouth as it ran against the wind into the desert and, fatigued, its 
breathing became hard and uneven.

  The rider refused to succumb. She blinked the sweat from her eyes and 
it ran back into her hair. Her face, for a moment, turned towards the 
starless sky. The being that dwelled within her had not appeased either. 
It massaged her and played with her all the while pushing her forward, its 
magnitude ever increasing.

  She coaxed her steed, moved her body with it, gripped the reins and 
pushed it to the hilt, but never did she speak. Her eyes scanned the 
horizon ahead for a sign, an encouragement and then she saw it. A light 
flickered. Somewhere, not too far away, a beacon flashed. Once, and only 
faint was the view but still it was there and she mustered new strength. 
For a second, she controlled the force inside her, she commanded it and 
it was hers. She wiped her forehead and the sweat was taken by the wind
and cast along with the hoof-prints, never to be seen again.

  Onwards she drove, forward into the darkness, never looking back. Her 
stallion slowed down. It, wanting to please her stroking fingers tried 
to continue its charge but it could not. Weary, its pace faltered and it 
stumbled. The rider, casting a fearful glance into the distance towards 
where she had seen the light, dismounted.

  Looking at her faithful steed, she hugged its neck, thinking that 
whatever the ending, she couldn't dismiss this companion without showing 
it her love, telling it that she understood. By this act, the possessor 
which gripped her soul was placated. It died inside her, but before she 
realized, it was there again, playing with her, soothing her, igniting 
the fuse that fired her.

  Brushing the flowing locks of hair over her shoulder, she trudged on 
foot, across the sands.

  Inside the ambulance the stretcher jerked aberrantly. It 
was fastened to the sides of the van with straps but still it 
was jarred as they raced around the corners. The sirens wailed 
and the flashing lights on top whirled about. The woman who 
crouched in back thought again how they must have contrasted 
to the Christmas tree lights that shone in the dark as she 
watched them fall back along the sides of the street.

  The ambulance sliced a sharp turn and then slowed as it
descended a ramp into a sheltered area. A large metal slab 
was unfolding from the ceiling to shut out the parking lot as 
the doors to the van were opened. The men pulled the stretcher 
out and lifted it down to the cement floor. They wheeled it away 
up a ramp and into a more habited area. The woman was left alone 
to follow, their professionalism kept them detached.

  She passed a desk where a receptionist sat and she was
immediately stopped. The woman, torn between rushing after her
daughter and waiting, looked about with desperation. She grabbed
the forms as the lady behind the desk handed them to her and then
rushed after the disappearing cart. They stopped in a room and
the men who had driven the ambulance withdrew. The woman, racked
with indecision, looked helplessly at the child before she bit
her knuckles and turned away.

  The room was dressed in white. Glass cabinets held clean
sheets, piled up with impeccable order. The walls and ceiling
were white, clean white. Not having realized she had even sat
down, the woman leapt to the girl's side when she cried almost
inaudibly. Footsteps sounded discernibly hollow in the hallway,
the woman's ears selected them and separated them from all the
other noises as the ones that were coming to her.

  "Hello, Mrs. James," the doctor said as he entered the clean
white room, "not a very nice Christmas is it?"

  Mrs. James smiled weakly back at him and then looked towards
her daughter.

  "It's best if you fill out those forms as soon as possible,"
the doctor informed her as he closed the door. He strode over to
the cart and lifted the tiny girl into his arms and placed her on
a second padded bed. She stirred as he carried her and the
woman's head twisted round hoping to catch a glimpse of her
daughter miraculously awakening.

  As the woman half-mindedly filled out the forms in the room,
the doctor examined the child. He opened her mouth and peered
in, he felt her forehead and pressed his fingers along her neck. 
The doctor undressed the girl. He pulled off the cotton
nightgown and felt underneath the girl's arms and along her
chest.

  As the woman continued to complete and sign the forms, the
doctor tested the girl's pulse and listened for her breath and
heartbeat. His voice assumed a little more gravity than the
first time he spoke and he said, "She's very sick, Mrs. James.
I'll give you more details shortly, but I'd like to give her an
I.V. immediately."

  The woman, instantly at the side of the examining table, 
looked with tear-filled, questioning eyes into those of the 
doctor. She nodded her assent and handed him the papers. The 
doctor buzzed the receptionist through his intercom and asked 
her if she'd find a room for the child.

  Her eyes, a desperate green, pierced through the whipping sands.

  She walked, she ran towards the tiny light. It flashed more often now, 
a sign that she was closer, approaching her goal. The blowing grains of 
sand flung out around her, but she continued unabated. Over the dunes she 
climbed, slipping sometimes, falling, yet always recovering.

  The sand blew with relentless ferocity at her. It ripped at her bare 
legs and chest, tearing the skin, pricking it, stabbing it but she 
prevailed. The beast within her still grew and she used it to motivate her, 
to fuel her, to relax her. It, to her, represented untapped energies, a 
mystery unsolved and unsolvable that worked to spur her onwards. It was 
alluring, tempting, captivating. It was evil -- it wanted to please her.

  Her feet slipped as she ran and kicked up spurts of sand to be added to 
the miniature tornadoes that followed her. The winds carried specks of it 
into her eyes and whipped it at her face but she went on. The entity that 
lived inside her churned restlessly about. She fought to dominate it, as 
it also fought to control her. It massaged her with increased vitality and 
she almost gave in to its haunting needs, for without her it was nothing, 
it needed her to sustain it. She understood this, it was known, yet she 
played with it willingly. She taunted it, letting it capture pieces of her 
and then snatching them away again -- mockingly.

  The light in the distance was constant now. It shone dimly, slicing 
through the storms of sand and projecting into her eyes. It represented 
freedom. It called out its salvation to her as she ran, the echoes of 
its sanctuary rang out in her ears and she moved faster, ignoring the 
objects slung at her, ripping her flesh, trying to restrain her.

  The nurse put the child in a bed and she lay there 
unconscious. Her limbs moved about restlessly, motivated but 
without strength. The woman sat at the bedside. She watched 
her daughter's eyes move rapidly back and forth underneath her 
eyelids. They darted left and right erratically, trailing the 
actions of some great spectacle unveiled for only her. The little 
girl moaned softly and the woman clutched her hand. The hands 
were cold and lifeless. They were pale and unmoving. The woman 
let go, feeling she couldn't bear their touch any longer but 
immediately she grabbed them again and the girl's eyes 
somersaulted.

  The doctor paused in the doorway to give the woman another
moment alone with her daughter. He watched as the woman's eyes
searched deep into the face of the girl -- pleading with it --
delving inside it for hope somewhere in its innocence. The
doctor approached the end of the bed and the woman turned.

  "I'm afraid, Mrs. James, things aren't good," he said. After
years of many similar situations, he had never been able to find
the words or the tone which made receiving such news any easier.

  "She's going to be all right, isn't she doctor?" Mrs. James's
eyes were longing and worried. She was childlike, no longer
possessing words other than pleas, asking the impossible of
another mortal and the doctor sought to comfort her.

  "I think you should call your husband and tell him to come
down," the doctor answered, "it could go either way."

  The woman glanced back at the girl, wrangled in the 
turmoil of her visions. She looked long at her daughter, 
watching her writhe in the bed, bathed in a fevered sweat. 
The girl's cough was hollow and ineffective. It pained the 
woman and she left the room with the doctor to call home.

  Her eyes, burning orange, alight and searing, searched for hope.

  She had stumbled across the sand for what seemed almost an endless 
time. She didn't question, she never reflected or regretted, she 
continued on past that which confronted her, that which held her back. 
She came to a tree, one that was dead and grey. It rose in front of her, 
heading for the sky and on top, carrying it along, was the light.

  It shone brightly now, it was within grasp and once again her strength 
was renewed. It held there, poised against the blackened sky, stark and 
rigid like the tree. The light gave her courage, more so than the force 
inside her that held her, it gave her will and desire. It represented 
achievement, success and ultimately, escape.

  The force within drove towards its crescendo. It rose almost to its 
apex and ripped about inside her. As much as the loving caressing 
strengthened her, its increasing, its occupancy weakened her and pulled 
her back. For a moment she wanted to collapse and remain there at the 
base of the tree and as she began, the entity subsided. Like a spectrum 
of good and evil, its dichotomy was its only vehicle. Her fiery hair 
now drenched in sweat stuck to her and the sand-spawned gashes pained 
her. She began to climb the tree.

  Branch after branch she mounted, seeing the light grow brighter each 
time. She reached up to grab it, disillusioned with its proximity and 
lost her footing. The inside of her legs scraped along the tree and she 
grabbed for it, hugging it and holding the branches. Upwards she 
continued, waiting for the light to present its availability once more.

  The force danced and gurgled spasmodically. It began its rhythmic 
soothing and sang its enrapturing song.

  Frank put his arms around the woman from behind. They
comforted her a little and she turned to look at him 
momentarily. The girl had stopped her restless movements and 
now only her eyes showed signs of life.

  The doctor stood back, at the doorway, watching the waves 
on the various machines plot information. He saw in his instruments
what the couple saw in their daughter and he looked at them. His
attention was once again caught by the machines as the waves
peaked at a new height. His face evidenced signs of hope as he
looked as well as signs of worry for he knew that the indefinable
time of decision had arrived. As a doctor he had seen it often,
an indescribable sensation that the end was near, that his
patient had arrived some surreal moment of truth.

  The woman clutched her daughter's hand with increased 
strength as the child's face twitched. The struggle had 
become hers alone now.

  Her eyes were alive with vigour and determination as she rose.

  She climbed and the force inside climbed with her. It tried to control 
her and it succeeded, only to have power stolen away again from its evil 
jaws as she mounted another branch and the light came closer. It took 
her again, and she paused, then banished it. She rose again, higher up 
the tree, closer to the sky and towards the light.

  Then suddenly, like the coalescing of constellations, the light was 
there in front of her. She had arrived and as she smiled in triumph the 
force within her exploded. It attacked her with a magnificent onslaught 
that filled her body with ecstasy and ultimate evil. Her footing was 
lost and she grabbed for the light, she flailed out with both of her 
bloodied hands and reached for it.

  The doctor's eyes probed the machines for hope, he 
searched them for the final sign. The woman fell onto the 
bed and held her daughter's face tight against her chest.

  Her eyes were dull and grey as she fell. The light spun above her as 
she watched the branches speed by. The force rose within her body and 
she allied with it, welcoming it and then, seeing it flee from her she 
called out to it, but the evil force was gone.

                            # # #



[1;40;37m
Copyright 1994 Steven Kunc[0;40;31m
---------------------------------------------------------------------------[1;40;37m
Stephen resides in Ottawa, Canada, where he is a turnip farmer for a 
living, but earns a small secondary income as a writer. He hopes that 
electronic magazines will one day outgrow the prestigious rewards of full 
time turnip farming so that he can devote more energy to his novel and 
meet women outside the circle of farmer's daughters. 
[0;40;31m
===========================================================================[0m
