Light from Light

A short story

It was a Thursday morning after another, lost in count Wednesday night out with the boys at Frank’s, their chosen watering hole. Chuck was sleeping off the effort he made there the night before when he first became aware of it. He was at first partially aroused by the merciless thumping in his head. By the feel of it, he was certain that the melon-like structure of the front of his brain was pounding angrily against the inside parameter of his skull. Rolling over on his bed in stale sheets that had not been changed since his sister May had last visited his apartment, he blindly thrashed his arm out for a glass of water he had placed on his night stand several hours before. He gulped greedily against the sour morning taste of the tap water in the glass, and hoped against hope that this would appease the pain in his head to some moderating degree. His eyes, as he had long experienced, felt as if they had been sealed shut with wood glue the evening before. As such, he did not even attempt to open them, and shakily replaced the empty glass back onto the splintery top of the night stand. Regardless, even under the thick folds of wrinkled skin of his eyelids, his eyes were registering something extremely and terribly bright around him. If he didn’t know better he would have believed himself to be lying prone on his back out on a field at high noon on a hot summer day. But his other senses calmly asserted otherwise concerning his surroundings. His familiar and creaky cot-like bed was indeed under him, the glass of water was right where he had left it, and he heard the steady snapping sounds from a wall clock given to him by his niece last Christmas. He could only conclude that he was still in the bedroom of his apartment. So, what could be the explanation for this awful and terrible light? Was he sleeping with the ceiling light blazing in all its dusty glory? No, that could not be it, he reasoned, that little exposed 60-watt bulb above him hadn’t the capacity to produce this much light. In fact, his sister always complained about how dim it was in his room. “Can’t see the dirt as well either,” he oft repeated with a chuckle, even as she went about her little work of mercy, cleaning for the brother she loved more than he did himself. (She was too good to be true, still believing in that stuff they both learned as kids in parochial school, so many, many years ago.) No, it wasn’t the lightbulb above him. Even so, the brightness was not just coming from above him. It was just as bright when he turned his head to the right and to the left. The only partial relief was to cross his arms in front of his eyes. But this did not shut it out altogether. It was the same experience when he flipped onto his stomach and buried his head in his pillow. The brightness was dimmed but never completely blotted out. This told him something comforting at least. It was not coming from inside his head. He had not finally gone too far in the abuse of his middle-aged body and permanently blinded himself from a serious dilution of oxygen to his brain and optic nerves. It was external to him. He was now certain of it, especially now as he started to notice sounds coming from beyond his little room. Someone knocked over something heavy on the floor above him. He could just about hear a woman crying out somewhere else, possibly on his own floor. Another man was shouting something he could not quite make out. Yet, besides all that commotion, he realized that it was deadly quiet all around him, like how muffled and silent the world became after a heavy snowfall overnight. He then realized why. The normal background din of traffic from I-75, some three miles away and so omnipresent that he no longer noticed, had ceased. Feeling compelled to get up and investigate, Chuck lifted himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed and arose unsteadily. But then a fresh pounding in his head caused him to sway back and sit back down. Needing to regroup, he groped for the middle drawer of his night stand and found the flask he used for medicinal purposes. There was just a few gulps left in it, and he poured the burning liquid down his throat. He scratched his prickly chin for a moment before taking on the job of massaging the glue out of his eyelids. Gradually as he worked at it, the sandpaper dryness dissipated and he separated his eyelids, and with an effort akin to lifting his arms over his head, he pulled his eyelids open. The light impacted upon his retinas directly and he could see nothing but blinding light, yet surprisingly he did not feel the urge to squint. Amazingly, though obscuring everything in his surroundings, like a headlight shining in a dense fog, the light did not hurt his eyes. It was so encompassing, so effusive, it was impossible to tell where it was coming from. Getting up again, he felt his way over to the bedroom’s single casement window. Finding the crank to crack an opening to the outside world, he turned and turned until he felt fresh air billowing on his face. Other than the wisp of an occasional breeze, he could not discern any of the usual sounds of nature outside. No birds were singing, no dog barked. There were only the sporadic sounds of human dismay without. Somewhere, somehow, the sorrowful moans of a woman floated in the bright fog. “What is going on!” a man shouted hoarsely. Leaving the window, Chuck began fumbling about the room for his clothes. As he searched, he found that he could just make out things if he placed them almost directly next to his open eyes. He recollected vaguely that his trousers from the evening before were still draped on the foot rail of his bed. These he found and pulled them on. His loafers, kicked off before reclining as he always did, were found with only a single sweep of his arm. A fresh polo shirt from his top dresser drawer was found and made exterior to his torso. He then found the doorway and made his way out, feeling along the passage between his bedroom and the outer apartment. As he stepped past the door to the bathroom, he received an urgent prompting from his bladder. Stepping in, he decided it was more prudent to sit down for this one. After arising, it occurred to him that this little room had no exterior window, prompting yet another test of his environment. He closed the door to enclose himself in this dark place. Yet, as when he covered his eyes with his arms, closing the door only dimmed the light to a certain, but very subtle degree. He flipped the light switch on and off to be sure, to no effect. This was impossible, his mind rebelled. Yet, it was happening. A strong, ever building impulse then urged him to go outside to follow the light, to find its source. He stepped out of the bathroom and felt his way around armchairs in his living space to the front door. There he kicked over the umbrella stand placed there by his sister. Its contents, a wooden cane he used after breaking his foot playing softball and a bent up, old umbrella went tumbling down with a clatter. Thinking the cane might come in handy, he bent over and picked it up. Without further ado, he stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Immediately, he knew he was not alone, hearing people conversing to his right. “Do you think it’s the Russians?” someone asked. “Who’s that? Is that you, Chuck?” the voice called out. (Chuck recognized it as his next-door neighbor.) “Yep,” Chuck replied simply. “I think it’s a supernova,” another voice added. “Chuck, what do you think?” Chuck considered this question as he felt his way towards the building’s front door, swinging the cane in front of him as he went. “I’m going out to find out,” he replied. “Anyone coming with me?” Just as he said this, he bumped into someone. “Oh, sorry,” he said, discerning that it was a smallish person leaning against the wall. “No problem,” replied a voice with an Asian accent. Chuck recognized the man’s voice. It was that of the father to the Vietnamese family who were living in the basement apartment. Chuck immediately regretted that he had only ever acknowledged him while passing in the hall. “I go too,” the little man suggested. “Let’s,” Chuck agreed. Thus encouraged, they made their way out front. “I’m Chuck,” he said as they went down the front stairs, one step at a time, clinging to the metal railing cemented into the middle. “I’m sorry, I never asked you your name,” he added. “Thouh,” the man replied. They stopped at the foot of the stairs. The light was brighter out there, but still it did not hurt their eyes. Chuck looked up. “It’s not as intense above us, is it?” he remarked. “No, coming from that direction,” Thouh said. “I can’t tell where you’re pointing,” Chuck said, as Thouh felt for and grabbed Chuck’s arm and pointed it in the direction his own arm was pointing. Chuck looked and perceived. In all the blinding light around them, there was a small circle of light in the distance that shone most intensely. It was like looking at the disk of the sun up close with its corona in all its intensity around it. Yet, it was not up in the sky, but in a terrestrial location, on level with them. “Yes, I see it now,” Chuck said, “that’s east.” Chuck could tell what direction that was only because he was still standing against the steps of his building. He could feel the concrete riser of the last step behind his heals. “Let’s go.” He hooked his arm under Thouh’s and they made off together as Chuck gently swung his cane back and forth in front of them. Moving towards the most intense shining did not necessarily help them avoid obstructions, they soon learned. Chuck’s cane hit the wall of the next apartment building over, in spite of seeing the disk of light in front of them all the time. “It seems like it’s like maybe 50 yards away at given time, don’t you think?” Chuck opined. “Yes,” Thouh agreed. “We can’t seem to get any closer,” Chuck added. They decided that it was best to find the road that ran in front of their apartment complex. They soon found it, but then had to be careful not to run into cars stopped in the middle of the road. Their apartment complex was on the edge of a suburban neighborhood, so they knew that they must be walking past little homes now. (One of them belonged to May.) Following the road was indeed easier and safer, but they presently realized that the disk of light was veering to their right, and was not to be gotten to along this main road. They started to retrace their steps and look for an intersection to follow. It took some time to tell, but they managed to find a path or trail of some sort that seemed to lead in the direction they needed to go. The going for them now was rougher as the path was gravel. The light was in front of them now for sure. But just then the path dropped abruptly. Before they could react, their feet splashed into water, and losing their footing, they both fell into the freezing liquid. In the commotion, Chuck lost his cane. Thouh was by his side and already tugging at him to help him stand up. As such, they helped each other get back onto the bank. Chuck recollected that a small pond was situated nearby May’s parish church; this undoubtedly was it. “We’re near St. John’s,” he concluded. “Yes,” Thouh responded, “I think this way,” he said, again pointing with Chuck’s arm. “Yes, I think you’re right.” They moved on, trying to keep away from the pond’s edge as they went around it. Chuck’s foot slipped in the water again at one false step. “I’m not going in again,” he quipped as he pulled it out, “I’ve already been baptized.” They then stepped onto asphalt that both knew to be a path into the church parking lot. The circle of light was again directly in front of them, and they walked towards it. Now as they grew closer, they began to see abrupt flashes of figures standing around them, like shadows appearing and then disappearing. Startling at first, remarkably, the phenomenon did not frighten the two men, but only informed them that they had joined many others gathering at the little church. They heard voices praying the Divine Mercy chaplet. “For the sake of his sorrowful passion, have mercy on us and the entire world,” they were all repeating. As they advanced a few more steps, Chuck heard a familiar voice next to him. “Chuck, you made it!” May cried out joyfully. Just as she said this, Thouh was greeted by a woman’s voice, speaking to him in Vietnamese. “My family already here; I caught up with them,” Thouh explained happily. Chuck squeezed the little man’s shoulder as he went away with them. “Oh, Uncle Chuck,” the voice of his niece spoke out, “It’s a great miracle in our very midst!” she proclaimed. “What is it?” he asked. “Just look,” May replied. “Look on the altar—we can see it even from here. It’s the host in the monstrance; it’s the source of the light!” For the first time in his life, he was truly able to see. It wasn’t just a piece of bread after all, Chuck decided. He focused his gaze on the disk of light and believed.

The End.